Getting To Know You
by Kchan88
Summary: Cameron takes Chase to meet her family over Thanksgiving, and after a conversation with her mother, hopes to find a way to get Chase to open up about his own parents. Soon, they're delving into his past, growing closer as they do. Mid season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Getting to Know You

Taking advantage of the Thanksgiving holiday-and incredibly thankful to have managed to get a few days off- Chase and Cameron traveled to Chicago to spend the holiday with Cameron's entire immediate family, brothers and sisters included. Cameron of course, was thrilled; she was able to see her family-she rarely had time to visit because of the busy schedule-and she would finally get to introduce them to Chase. Their plane landed at O'Hare with a jolting thump, and while Cameron might have been a ball of excitement, Chase was a ball of nerves.

"You okay?" asked Cameron as Chase gallantly pulled both of their carry-ons from the overhead compartment.

Either so focused on his task or on his thoughts, he didn't answer.

"Robert?" Cameron asked.

Chase jumped a little at the use of his first name, pulling the bags down carefully. It was funny still, to hear his first name. Ever since he'd come to the States he'd always been Chase, even to his friends outside the hospital. He and Cameron still called each other by their surnames about half the time, having been so used to it, but he noticed that whenever she was serious or worried, she always called him Robert. He both loved and hated the use of his formal name. His father had _always_ called him Robert. Never Robbie, like his mother or grandmother, or Rob like his best mates from Australia. _Always_ Robert, and _always_ in that somber sort of tone. But like he loved and hated the use of his name, he supposed he both loved and hated his father. But he dearly loved calling Cameron Allison. It was an intimacy she shared with almost no one in the new life she'd created at PPTH, and he felt privileged.

"Sorry," he said, walking behind her as they exited the plane, her newly blonde hair a golden waterfall before him. "I'm fine. Just a little distracted."

"They'll love you," said Cameron, knowing what he really meant. Despite himself, his incredibly expressive blue-green eyes always gave him away. "But it's okay to be nervous. I'd be…" she stopped her words, realizing what she was about to say as they stopped in front of their baggage claim station.

"Nervous to meet my parents if they were still here?" he said evenly. "Well, you met my dad. I'd say that was a pretty good snapshot of him. Too bad I didn't have any siblings though, I envy you."

Cameron smiled, thinking of her older brother Peter, and her younger sister Christine.

Chase grabbed their bags and they went to hail a taxi to Cameron's family home.

"But you wanted me to meet your three best friends from Australia, right? Ben, Andrew, and Roger? You said they were coming in a few weeks to visit you."

"Yeah," answered Chase, eyes lighting up again. "They're excited to meet you. I sent them a picture of us, the one from the trip we took to the shore over the summer? None of them could guess how I ended up with someone as beautiful as you," he said, a grin overtaking his features.

"I can think of a few reasons," she said, bumping him gently with her hip. "And it'll be my turn to be nervous then."

He laughed, the sunlight catching his golden hair as they stepped outside. "I really am looking forward to meeting your family," he said, regaining the quiet confidence Cameron knew so well. "I just hope they like me."

As it turned out, they loved him. Cameron and Chase had arrived to a chorus of greeting, with hugs all around. Seeing the surprised look on Chase's face, his eyes widening at the affection, was priceless. There would be more family coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow, but for now it was just the immediate family.

"Allie," her father said after dinner. "Peter and I are going to take Robert to look at the new hot rod we've been working on in the garage. Do you mind?"

Cameron shook her head, laughing. "Go ahead, he's all yours."

Chase, an amateur car aficionado, looked pleased by this prospect, but also slightly afraid of being left alone with both Cameron's father and older brother. He shook his head slightly and followed them, willing himself to just relax and have fun. He really liked Cameron's family so far, and they had given him such a warm welcome.

Cameron was left alone in the living room with her mother and sister, each sipping a glass of red wine.

"God, Allie," piped up Christine, 25 now and working as a criminal lawyer. "Could you have _picked_ a better looking man? And the accent…oh my gosh. You'd better watch out, or I'll steal him from you," she said with a teasing wink.

"He is a beautiful man," commented her mother, Elizabeth. "Smart too, obviously. I don't think I could do his job, dealing with intensive care like that all the time. It takes a certain sort of person. There's something about him, though…" she paused, looking up at her daughter. "Did you say both his parents were deceased, Allie?"

Cameron chuckled. Her mother, never quite able to step out of her psychologist shoes.

"Don't psychoanalyze him, Mom. It's a little early for that. But yeah, his mom died, over ten years ago, and his dad died just a couple of years ago from lung cancer. He never even told Robert about it."

"Seriously?" questioned Christine, raising her eyebrows. "Wow. What a jerk. They must not have had a great relationship."

"From what I could tell when his dad came to visit the hospital a few years ago, they didn't," answered Cameron, remembering the seeming sudden changes in Chase's personality when Rowan Chase had appeared on the scene. House, it seemed, was the only one who knew quite why. "He's pretty silent on the subject."

"He doesn't talk about it?" asked Elizabeth. "That can't be good for him."

"I tried to ask him when his father was in Jersey, but he didn't respond very well," answered Cameron. "I'm afraid to push him."

"That was years ago though, and you weren't dating him," her mother answered. "And from what I can tell he doesn't want to burden you. Maybe you should try asking him. It was odd…he seemed almost shocked by our warm greetings, our banter. Like he wasn't sure what to make of it. I think he might not ever say anything unless you ask first."

"Maybe," Cameron said hesitantly, but knowing her mother was probably right. "He tends to keep his real thoughts on that subject buried pretty well beneath the surface."

"Birds of a feather," said Christine, rolling her eyes at her sister.

"Hey!" exclaimed Cameron, slapping her sister playfully on the arm.

"Oh you two," chuckled Elizabeth. "So you're liking the ER? And Robert is liking surgery?"

"I do like it. And I've gotten the chance to be involved in some committees and things at the hospital, which is new and different," said Cameron, her eyes darting toward the fire, which was crackling beside them. She smiled, thinking of the turn her life had taken lately. "And Robert really likes surgery. He's getting a ton of surgical experience under his belt."

"And Dr. House?" questioned Elizabeth. "I know you'd said there was some tension between the two of them."

Cameron nodded. "I think that's mostly solved itself. House has practically made Chase his personal surgeon for all his patients, which coming from House, is as big a compliment as possible. He didn't fire Chase because he wasn't a good doctor; he fired Chase because he knew it was time for him to "leave the nest" so to speak. I think Chase gets that now. The two of them have a kind of weird father-son relationship. Not that either of them would admit it, of course."

"Men," responded Christine, laughing as the three women caught up on their lives, what to buy various people for Christmas, and pondering just what the men were talking about in the garage. Cameron, meanwhile, couldn't stop thinking upon her mother's words.

Chase sat under the covers of the bed in Cameron's old bedroom, looking around curiously, his finished crossword sitting on the nightstand. Cameron changed into her nightgown, looking over at him.

"What?" she asked.

"I was just thinking about you growing up in here. I adore the red rosebud wallpaper, by the way," he said, shooting a cheeky grin her way. It was that grin that nearly had the power to transform her into a puddle on the floor. She sat down on the bed and Chase opened his arms up to her, her head resting on her chest.

"You're hilarious. What did you have, rocket ships? Superheroes?"

"No," he laughed. "I just had blue walls. I don't think my mom liked wall paper."

Cameron snuggled closer to him, feeling safer than she had ever remembered. Even with Mike, she hadn't felt this safe, his death always looming on her mind. Ever since she had taken this leap into a relationship, when she hadn't really had one since Mike had died, she'd felt safer than she could have possibly imagined she would. Chase had led her along the pathway of their romance with the utmost gentleness since she had shown up at his door that night, and she couldn't be thankful enough that he had been so persistent after she'd ended their casual relationship when he'd wanted more; otherwise she might not have been brave enough to take the leap at all. What worried her was that despite the fact that he had been to initiate the interest in a more serious relationship, had been the one that was patient with her fears, he seemed to be the one who didn't feel safe.

"Chase?" asked Cameron suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Hmmm?" he answered.

"Tell me about your parents."

"What?" he questioned, pulling back slightly to look at her.

"Tell me about them. And not the short version. The truthful one. I want to know what happened to your mom, and why you had the relationship you did with your dad." She looked him straight in the eye, gaze unwavering. It was the look she often used when trying to make House listen to her, and if it had been a different situation, Chase would have laughed.

"Allison, I…" he started.

"House knows more about your family than I do. That isn't fair."

"You know me better than anyone," argued Chase. "And House manages to learn everyone's personal information."

"You volunteered it to him when he asked," Cameron responded. "I love you…and I want to know the most secret parts of your soul. I know…" she felt tears well up in her eyes despite herself. "I know it hurts you to talk about it, but you can trust me with it. I promise."

"It's not that I don't trust you," argued Chase, letting go of her and turning to sit up, his head resting in his hands, eyes fervently looking away from her.

"I took a leap of faith that I'd never thought I'd take to be with you," said Cameron. "I told you everything about Mike, about everything that happened after. Please, Robert, talk to me."

He sighed, turning back around, his eyebrows furrowed, fearing his heart would come bursting through his chest, hands shaking. Pent up emotion he realized with a slight bitterness, did not do wonders for anyone. Cameron kept her eyes fixed on him, waiting to see what he would do.

"He didn't beat me," Chase began, remembering Cameron's question from several years ago. "But he did leave us when I was 15. Their marriage had been falling apart for a while. My father was a workaholic, as you could tell, and as the marriage crumbled, so did she. And crawled right into a bottle of gin."

Cameron took her hand carefully in his, intertwining their fingers. He didn't take it away, but he still seemed unable to look her.

"I remember the day he left," Chase continued. "It was ugly."

_"Dad!" Chase shouted, following his father down the hall, where he was going to pack more things into suitcases. "You can't just leave us like this!"_

_ "I don't believe it is the child's place to tell the parent what to do, Robert," answered Rowan in an infuriatingly calm tone as he folded shirts and placed them in a suitcase. "I won't be far. Only fifteen minutes. The finances will all be taken care of. Your life won't change that much."_

_ "Because you're never here as it is," Chase shot back. "How can you just leave mum like this? She's sick, Dad. She needs your help!"_

_ "She's an alcoholic," sneered Rowan. "She can't even help herself."_

_ "You don't even give a shit, do you?" yelled Chase, taking one of his father's suitcases and flinging it across the room._

_ Rowan seized his son's wrist, and took his chin roughly in his hand, forcing the teenager to look him in the eye. _

_ "Watch your language!" he said, voice rising steadily. "You will show me respect! Do you hear me?"_

_ Robert wrenched himself out his father's grip. "Don't touch me," he said, voice an icy hiss. "How am I supposed to take care of her with you gone?"_

_ "I told you," answered his father, as though they were discussing the weather. "That I could send you to boarding school."_

_ "Because you don't want me," Robert said, voice barely above a whisper now. But he refused to cry in front of his father. "You never did."_

_ "That is not true, and you know it," said Rowan, his tone a smidge kinder. "There's an excellent school in Sydney that would prepare you for medical school."_

_ "What, so I can grow up to be bastard like you?" asked Robert, not breaking his father's gaze. "I don't want to be your perfect little protégé." _

_ "Watch. Your. Mouth!" yelled Rowan, glaring at his son. "It would be much more beneficial for you to go to school there instead of trying to take care of a lost cause. It would be shame to watch an extremely bright boy go to waste trying to play hero. Especially when he's my son."_

_ "I won't leave her here to die. She's my mother. I'm not like you. I don't just give up on my family."_

_ "If you want to be stubborn, I won't stop you. I'll keep the option open," said Rowan, shutting the final suitcase, before walking toward the door. "When you come to your senses. Assuming your mother hasn't drained all the sense from your head."_

_ In one last desperate attempt, Robert grabbed at his father's sweater._

_ "Dad! Please!" the monster of pain in chest wanted to break down and sob, but he fought it back. _

_ He was interrupted by a soft whisper at the doorway._

_ "It's okay Robbie," said Isabelle Chase, coming face to face with her son and husband. "He's going to leave no matter what you say." Even with purple bags under her eyes, she still looked beautiful, her long blonde hair, so like her son's, hanging halfway down her back._

_ Chase edged past his father to stand beside his mother. Two stood across from one like an old Western showdown. Robert took his mother's hand in his, protecting her. Rowan stared at them with his cold grey eyes, surveying them as if they were the paperwork for his newest medical trial._

_ "I'll be in touch," was all he said before walking out the door. Robert ran to the window and watched his father drive away. His mother walked silently past him, standing up her tiptoes to kiss the top of her son's head, before heading down the stairs. A few minutes later, Robert heard breaking glass, and went to the top of the stairs to see what the racket was. His mother sat on the couch, one gin and tonic in hand, watching the remnants of alcohol in the bottle drip down the wall and onto the broken shards of glass._

Chase looked up from the spot he'd picked to stare at on the bed sheets, and chanced a look up at Cameron, whose eyes were flooded with tears. He smiled at her, wiping a falling tear away with his thumb.

"She died a couple of years after that, when I was 17, almost 18, the summer before University. Her liver just couldn't take it anymore. A lot happened in between though, if you still want to know."

Cameron nodded, burying her head in his chest for a moment before settling herself. It unnerved her that he hadn't yet reacted to finally telling her these stories; the emotion was in his eyes, but he hadn't let it out. She could only hope he would before the night was over, or she was afraid he would explode.

Pull yourself together Allison, she said to herself. Be strong for him. Because sometimes, she could tell, he grew weary of always being strong.

AN: Hi all! This is certainly not my first venture into the fanfiction world, but it is my first House fic, so I'm hoping you like it. I'm thinking it will take about 3 chapters to cover this, so I'll call it a three-shot. I'm a huge fan of the Cameron/Chase relationship, and of the father-son relationship between House and Chase, so there will be focus on that, obviously. Thanks for reading!


	2. Stitches and Saviors

Getting to Know You

Chapter 2: Stiches and Saviors

Chase hesitated for a few moments, half of him hardly able to believe he'd opened the ever-shut Pandora's Box of his family's past. He hated how it made him feel like a child, like the naive teenager shouting his father down the hall and fruitlessly trying to save the mother he'd been so close to as a child. He did often miss Australia and the good friends he'd left behind that he was still in touch with, but he'd come to the States to start over. He'd enjoyed the past few years, being Dr. Robert Chase, Intensivist, fellow under House, and now surgeon, rather than Robbie Chase, son of the great Dr. Rowan Chase, the son who was constantly carted around to medical benefits for his father to show off, proclaiming Robert would follow in his footsteps, while the same father barely paid any attention to him the minute they walked in the front door. Finally, he was happy. He had a job he enjoyed, friends and colleagues he liked, and a girlfriend he loved more than he could quite explain.

But the other half of him was trying to figure out which part of the story to tell the woman beside him next, more than a little concerned about breaking down in front of her. Concerned that wouldn't come back from it. He shifted his position, pulling one knee up to his chest and resting his head against the backboard. Cameron came back in the door, two mugs of tea in hand, shutting the door behind her with her foot.

"Thanks," he said, smiling at her as he took the mug from her and took a sip, the taste of English Breakfast Tea flooding his senses for a moment before he placed the mug on the table beside him.

At seeing the look on his face, Cameron started to reach out to embrace him, but Chase put a gentle hand on her shoulder, pushing her back.

"What?" she questioned, hurt reflected in her eyes.

"I'm just afraid if you hug me before I finish telling you, I'll…" he took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I'll break down. I owe you the entire story. The last person I talked to about this was House, and it wasn't even close to this kind of detail. It's all been shoved down for a long time."

She nodded, still looking a little unsure. At seeing her expression, he took her hand back in his, intertwining their fingers as she had done before. She squeezed his fingers, placing a feather-light kiss on his cheek.

"Mum had been struggling with alcoholism since I was around 10, like I told you a while ago, but after Dad left it only got worse," Chase continued, absentmindedly running circles on the skin of Cameron's hand with his finger.

"Did she," Cameron's voice was shaky. "Did she hit you?"

Chase felt his breath catch in his throat, beads of sweat forming at his hairline. He breathed in, trying to calm himself.

"It wasn't a pattern," he said. "Her nature wasn't violent, so alcohol didn't usually make her angry. It usually made her hysterical at its worst. But there were a few times…"

"How many?" asked Cameron, a hint of the righteous anger he knew so well in her voice.

"Four," Chase whispered, looking over at her, remembering each time. "The first three times she just slapped me when I tried to take the alcohol away from her. That's the most dangerous thing to do to an alcoholic, but I was afraid she'd accidentally kill herself. She was always sorry, but the last time…the last time caused a trip to the ER…"

_"Mum, come on, you've got to eat something," 16-year-old Robert argued, placing the steak and potatoes he'd made for dinner on the coffee table in front of her. "You've thrown up everything the past two days from all the gin."_

_ Isabelle looked up her son, a half smile gracing her features. She hadn't had her usual amount of gin because she'd had a meeting with an old business associate, from the days when she worked in the medical insurance business. It was how she'd met his father. "All right, Robbie. Since you made it, I will. You're such a sweet boy, and growing up so fast." She ruffled his hair as he sat down beside her to eat his own dinner, carefully watching as she took her first bite._

_ "Was school okay today?" she asked, swirling the glass of gin and tonic in her hand. _

_ "I got an A on my philosophy paper," Robert answered, hardly able to believe he was having a normal conversation with his mother. "Professor Leeds says he wants me to enter it into an essay competition."_

_ "Robbie, that's wonderful!" she remarked. "You've always done so well, even having to put up with me."_

_ "Don't worry about that, Mum," he answered, pushing his potatoes around on his plate. "But…well…Professor Leeds also said that he'd be glad to write me a recommendation for University next year, when I apply, and that…well he also recommended a good Seminary after I'm done. It's in Britain, actually. I could probably finish University in three years, then head there."_

_ Isabelle squeezed her son's arm. "Father Robert, huh? Are you sure about all this? You're still so young; you've still got another year and a half of high school. And your father…"_

_ "I don't care what Dad has to say," Robert said in a sharper voice than he intended. "I still have a few years to think about it, but it really feels right. I'd like to help people, be a parish priest maybe."_

_ "If you think it feels right, then I say go for it," she said, rising when she noticed her glass was empty. "I'm glad the faith I taught you as a child stuck."_

_ She walked over to the liquor cabinet, realizing her current bottle was empty, and opened it to find the last three bottles of gin she'd purchased nowhere to be found. _

_ "Robert," she said, her voice becoming more slurred now. "Where is it?"_

_ Robert felt his heart drop to his stomach, but he rose from the couch, determined to stand his ground. He wouldn't let her drown herself in alcohol._

_ "I got rid of it, Mum," he said calmly, stepping toward her and daring to lay a hand on her arm. "You've been throwing up for days. I had to do something. You were getting dehydrated."_

_ Her eyes narrowed in fury, and he knew he'd lost her. Though he was now taller than her, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him close to her face, the stench of the alcohol making him want to vomit. _

_ "What have I told you?" she said, voice shaking. "About getting rid of the alcohol?"_

_ "I had to," he said, looking her directly in the eye. "I can't let you die, Mum!"_

_ "I'm not going to die!" she yelled, voice rising. "And you're a child."_

_ "I'm not," he said, freeing himself from the grip she couldn't hold, feeling frustrated. "I know you're upset because Dad left…"_

_ At his words he felt a stinging slap across his face and he stumbled backward in surprise._

_ "I suppose you were smart enough to get rid of all my secret stashes. That's what I get for having an intelligent child," she said in a harsh whisper, swinging the empty bottle back and forth in her hand._

"_It's all gone too," he admitted, bringing a hand to his rapidly reddening cheek._

_Her face paled, her grip tightening on the bottle. The blue-green eyes so similar to her son's were bloodshot, her blonde hair falling out of its ponytail at the nape of her neck. His mother was no longer in the room, replaced by this woman he didn't recognize._

_ Robert's breaths came in short, quick gasps, feeling as though the room were crushing down on him._

_ "How dare you!" she screamed, moving closer as Robert found himself backed up against the living room wall. "I could go into withdrawal!"_

_ "I know, Mum. I'll take you to the hospital. It'll be okay. I won't let anything happen to you." His eyes glistened with tears that he wiped away with a determined hand._

_ "No it won't!" she screamed, her hands shaking furiously now. "Now it won't ever be okay!"_

_ "Mum…"_

_ "Damn you Rowan!" she screamed. "You left me! I won't let you take Robbie away too!"_

_ "Mum, it's me, it's Robbie!" he said. "I'm not leaving you, I promise."_

_ "You're not taking my baby away!" she screamed, launching the bottle from her hands._

_ Robert watched as it hurtled toward him. He tried to get out of the way, but the bottom half of the bottle shattered against the top of his head and side of his face above his eyebrow, the rest shattering against the wall. He felt the warm blood start pouring from a gash on his head and the smaller cuts on his face, the remaining drops of alcohol burning. He moved away from the glass shards on the floor, and slid down onto the carpet, holding his head. The room swirled around him, a whirlpool of color. Sharp pains ran rampant across his head._

_ "Oh my God, Robbie!" she exclaimed, coming over to kneel beside him, the shattering glass and the sight of her profusely bleeding son shocking her back to reality. "Darling, I'm so sorry! I didn't…" tears flooded her eyes. "I'm going to call the ambulance. Just hold on, Robbie."_

_ Robert nodded as he heard her direct the ambulance where to go, and then blackness surrounded him._

"She threw a bottle at you?" interrupted Cameron, her eyes wide. "Slapping you is bad enough, but she through a bottle at you? That scar above your eyebrow, I always wondered where it came from…Oh God."

She had to fight the urge to wrap him in her arms, remembering what he'd said earlier. He seemed to think he could perfectly predict when and if he would break down. She didn't believe it, but she wanted to respect his wish. Instead she took both her hands and placed them on either side of his head and ran them gently through his blonde hair, leaning her forehead against his own.

"Honestly," he said, his voice so calm it frightened her. "It would have been easier to hate her if it had been a habit. But it wasn't. I loved her so much," his eyes met hers, glistening with the ghosts of the past. "I knew I certainly didn't deserve the times she hit me, and part of me was angry…but I couldn't stay that way."

"I'll be angry for you then," remarked Cameron, placing his hand back in hers, knowing how difficult it was for him to even think about looking weak in front of her. But she knew he needed to. She knew he needed to get all of it out, no matter if they had to stay up all night. She knew so much about him, but this part, which had buried itself in the deepest parts of his soul, had to emerge. She'd seen how he'd longingly looked at the close knit nature of her family.

She remembered the night a month or so ago, when she had told him the details about Mike, about her marriage, and the devastation after his death. They had been up until five o'clock in the morning, and she fell asleep in his arms, tears streaming down her face. The next day they'd stayed in because they had time off, and he'd cooked breakfast, insisting she stay in bed. He'd treated her like a queen all day.

"And your Dad?" she continued. "Did he find out?"

"I was out cold," he said with a sigh, "and Mum directed them to Melbourne General, where my Father worked. Needless to say, they paged him right away once they realized his son and ex-wife were in the ER."

_Robert woke up, finding himself laying down in an ER bed, his mother holding his hand, and the head of the ER, Dr. Owens, standing above him with a worried smile, brown hair streaked with tinges of grey. _

_ "Robert," she said, smiling down at him. "You're back with us. Can you sit up for me? I've got to try and clean these and get any glass out."_

_ Robert nodded, smiling at the friendly female doctor who had always slipped him candy every time he'd come to visit the hospital with his mother when he was a child. _

_ "Whoa," he said, dizziness overcoming him for a second as he sat up._

_ "Dizzy?" she asked. "That's normal. Here, Isabelle, help me prop these pillows up."_

_ His mother obliged before taking Robert's hand back in her own. Robert took in the familiar surroundings of the hospital his father had worked in since he was born; the phone ringing off the hook, the chatter of doctors and nurses as they walked down the hallway, the beeping of heart monitors. _

_ "You're almost as tall as this bed!" exclaimed Dr. Owens, "beginning to clean the wounds that weren't stuck with glass with peroxide, which Robert tried not to wince at. The EMT's had cleaned most of the blood off his face, but he could feel it drying in his hair. "You're 16 now right?"_

_ "Yes," said Robert, trying to smile at her while steadfastly avoiding his mother's gaze. His heart beat faster than he knew it was meant to. Anxiety was attempting to overcome him. "Year 11 of high school."_

_ She was about to respond when the curtain was pulled back, revealing Rowan Chase, whose current expression was unreadable. _

_ "I'll take over from here Dr. Owens," he said. "Did you get the glass out yet?"_

_ "Not yet," she said. "I think we should at least give him something to kill the pain before you try. I'm sure he's already in pain. The EMT's didn't know what he was allergic to…they thought you'd know."_

_ "Yes," answered Rowan, gazing over at his ex-wife. "Could you get me 1,000 mg of Paracetamol and 2 mg of Lorazepam?"_

_ She nodded and left the tense situation, looking nervous._

_ "Thank you," said Rowan, nodding at her, taking up where she left off to clean the wounds._

_ "So the great Dr. Chase deigns to clean and stitch up a wound in the ER?" said Robert, wincing from the burning pain and feeling as though his head might explode if something didn't relieve it soon._

_ "Robbie," said his mother, squeezing his hand in comfort. "Don't, dear."_

_ "I thought I might tend to my own son," said Rowan, throwing one more bloody cotton ball into the trash bag beside him._

_ "You just don't want people talking," muttered Robert. _

_ "Care to tell me how this happened, Isabelle?" asked Rowan, ignoring his child and looking at his ex-wife. "Or did Robert just happen to fall into a glass wall?"_

_ She was spared from answering however, when Dr. Owens appeared with the medicine, water, and a Milky Way bar, Robert's favorite candy when he had been a child. _

_ "For after you're all stitched up," she said, winking at him._

_ "Thank you Dr. Owens," said Rowan, smiling slightly at his colleague. "I'll page if I need you."_

_ Once she was gone, Rowan spoke once more to his ex-wife, the woman he had once claimed was the love of his life._

_ "Go to the cafeteria and get some coffee Isabelle," he said, motioning for Robert to swallow the meds. "Come back in about half an hour."_

_ "I don't want to leave him," she argued, stroking a stray hair away from her son's face. "I'm his mother."_

_ "And I'm the doctor," he said, unmoving. He glanced at the stat monitor. "His blood pressure is high enough as it is from the stress of whatever happened. It doesn't need to go up anymore, unless you'd like him to have a hypertensive crisis from anxiety alone."_

_ "It's okay, Mum," Robert reassured her. "I'll be fine."_

_ She sighed, squeezing his hand one last time before heading down the hallway, blonde hair swinging behind her. _

_ "Lay back," said Rowan, trading his gloves for a clean pair and reaching for the tweezers to pull the glass out from the two gashes on his son's head. "This is going to hurt, but the medication will kick in in just a few minutes. One will help with the pain and one will calm you down, maybe make you fall asleep after a bit. Squeeze the sides of the bed when it hurts."_

_ Robert shut his eyes against the pain, knuckles turning white as he grasped the bed. _

_ "Dammit," he breathed after a few minutes. "God, that hurts."_

_ "It's all right, Robert," said Rowan in a strangely soothing tone, one Robert hadn't heard since he was a small boy. One he missed. "That was the last of it. You're going to need some stitches though, on both of these gashes. Drink some more water," he said as he paged an ER nurse to bring him the materials to stitch up his son's head._

_ He started to clean the gashes gingerly, getting rid of the blood that had been stuck under the glass. "It's going to take some washing to get this dried blood out of your hair, but I don't want to aggravate the gashes, so I'll just have to leave it for now."_

_ "Okay," answered Robert, chancing a look up at his father as he sat down beside him, giving the peroxide some time to work before he started the stitches. "Thanks. For cleaning me up."_

_ "Not a problem," his father answered. "Is the pain subsiding?"_

_ Robert nodded, closing his eyes again, the pain ebbing away as the medication kicked in._

_ Rowan held a small towel to the gash on the side of his son's head, which was worse than the one above the eyebrow, stemming the bleeding. There was a trace of affection in his gesture._

_ "You should have called me," he said quietly. "If she was this out of control. I'm taking it she threw an empty bottle?"_

_ "She hadn't even had as much as usual. I thought she was okay," said Robert, "until she realized I'd thrown all the gin out. I think she started hallucinating, or something. She thought I was you. It came out of nowhere. I didn't…I didn't know what to do."_

_ "You can't save her, Robert," said Rowan, shaking his head. Robert noticed grey was starting to appear in the light brown strands. "Don't you see what she's done?" You've got a head wound, for heaven's sake!"_

_ "If you hadn't left us, then it wouldn't have exacerbated the problem she already had. You didn't even try." A single tear escaped his eye despite himself. "She needed you. I needed you. And you weren't there."_

_ "Fine," Rowan answered in a clipped tone, standing up to begin stitching the wounds. "Be stubborn if you wish. But you're staying here overnight for observation. I don't want to risk you getting an infection. Now go to sleep, it'll help."_

_ Robert nodded, too tired to argue, feeling his father's finger touch his cheek briefly before continuing with the stitches._

"Did you see your Dad more often after that?" asked Cameron, edging a little closer to her boyfriend.

"He stopped by about once a month to check on the house," answered Chase. "He called me once a week or so to check on school and things like that. He provided the majority of the finances. We weren't wanting for money. But he was pretty much absent save the rare occasion. His appearances at my violin concerts and my football matches had been intermittent for years, but they stopped entirely after he left. He usually only wanted to talk about my University plans."

"You missed him?" questioned Cameron, brushing a crease out of her silky lavender nightgown.

"I wished I hadn't," said Chase, staring at the bed sheets once more. "But I did. It's getting late. Shouldn't we go to bed?"

Cameron looked at the clock, recognizing his tactic. "It's only 11:30. You and I never go to bed this early. You said you needed to get the whole story out just a little while ago." She cupped his face in her hand, making him look at her. "You can do it. I'm here. Even if it takes all night."

"But didn't you want to wake up early to watch the parade?"

"We can still watch it," She answered. "We'll need a nap after eating tomorrow anyway, believe me. And we're used to functioning on less sleep than normal humans."

"True," he said, fingering a strand of her soft golden hair. "Very true."

AN: Hi! So I lied…this story is going to be longer than three chapters…the plot bunnies are running in my head and can't be stopped. And plus I've been wanting to write this kind of story for a while, as Chase if one of my favorite characters of all time. I'll be back soon with flashbacks galore, a wonderful amount of Chase/Cameron sweetness, and eventually, a flashback appearance from everyone's favorite cane wielding diagnostician. I could never leave him out!


	3. Letting Go

Getting to Know You

Chapter 3: Letting Go

Chase stood in front of the adjoining bathroom mirror, drying off his face. He sighed, steadying himself for the next part of the story he had to tell. There was more to relate after this part was over, but this would be the most difficult part by far. He knew though, that he needed to keep going, had to let Cameron all the way in, much as it terrified him, as much as the thought of seeming weak in front of her troubled him. If they were going to continue on the path their relationship was on, he couldn't hide from her. From the beginning he'd always been the one encouraging her to open up, leading her gently into the first true romance she'd had since her husband had died, while leaving parts of his heart completely closed off, and he didn't want to be hypocritical, let alone push Cameron away. He re-entered the bedroom to find her stretched out on the bed, a pillow resting on top of her legs. Chase sat gingerly on the side of the bed.

"Come here," she whispered, patting the pillow, her blonde hair out of its usual ponytail and falling down past her shoulders, softening her features.

Her dark green orbs bore into his own, and Chase mused that while sometimes Cameron's personality was sharp as a dagger, the more prominent part was as soft as laying down on a feather bed. A hint of harshness mixed in with an unceasing kindness. He felt incredibly lucky to be on the other side of Cameron, to be someone she cared about not just because she was a caring person in general, but because she loved him. _At least, she said she did_, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He hesitated. Usually he made any excuse to get as close to her as possible, but now his fear reflexes were kicking in. His muscles tensed up as the poisonous memories took possession of his mind

"Please," she said, eyes pleading with him. "For me."

He smiled at her and moved over to place his head on the pillow, legs splaying out diagonally across the bed. She stroked the top of his head back and forth with her fingers, and he felt a little safer, a little warmer.

"She never hit me again after that night," he said, tossing the covers over his legs, smiling slightly at the girlish rosebud pattern, picturing a young teenage Cameron. "I think she was afraid of herself after what happened. She was in a stupor more often than not. I'd be a great Dad, I think, because I'm pretty used to cleaning up vomit and I'd be great at coaxing a kid to eat when they didn't want to, because my mom almost never did, and I had to find ways to convince her she couldn't live on gin alone. I had to forgo most of my extracurricular things by the time year 12 started."

"But your friends, didn't they notice?"

"I kept it pretty well covered up, but I did tell Andrew. We'd been best friends since we were 8, like I told you before, and once his parents figured out what was going on, they made me stay over at their house a couple of nights a week, but I'd only go after I put Mum to bed."

"She never tried rehab or anything?" asked Cameron, sounding astounded. It was one of the things Chase loved best about Cameron; a large part of her always believed the best in people, despite House's mantra of "Everybody Lies" often being true during the years they'd worked for him. She kept him from becoming more jaded, and he kept her grounded. They'd achieved a balance together.

"She admitted herself the summer before year 12," Chase, answered, feeling goose bumps popping up on his skin. "But it didn't work out. I reveled in the days when we actually had a coherent conversation, but a few weeks after I graduated from high school, things took a turn that couldn't be reversed. Alcoholic liver failure."

_"Mum!" Robert called as he closed the front door behind him and hung his bag on the rack in the hallway. His friends had practically kidnapped him to play football in the park near his house, but he'd only consented to an hour. "I'm home."_

_ He heard the sounds of retching and ran to the bathroom, finding his mother on her knees. But what he saw in the toilet made his heart start pounding; she was vomiting blood, a river of crimson running over the floor and a pool of it in the toilet._

_ "Mum!" he shouted, kneeling down next to her and checking her pulse, knowing it was fainter than it should be._

_ "Robbie," she whispered, turning to look at him. He gasped when he saw she was jaundiced. _

_ "It's okay, I'm going to call the ambulance. Just hang on, okay?"_

_ She nodded, and he ran into the living room and grabbed the phone, giving the emergency operator directions to their home. His hand shook as he ended the call and he took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm himself. His blood felt like it was on fire. He dialed his father's office number, praying to God he was there. He had only seen his father once in three months, but he knew, as much as he hated to admit it, that he needed him now. The phone rang four times before someone picked up._

_ "Dr. Chase," answered his father, sounding as though he'd been busy, and Robert imagined him at his desk, lab coat hung neatly over his chair, glasses perched on his nose while working on an article or examining a patient file. _

_ "Dad…" Robert struggled to find his voice. He shook all over, and before he even knew what was happening, a sob erupted from the bottom of his throat, mixed with what sounded like a suppressed scream. He was mentally telling himself to stop, but he seemed to have temporarily lost control of his vocal cords._

_ "Robert? What's going on son? You've got to tell me," he said, urgency in his tone, along with the slightest trace of panic. "Are you all right?"_

_ "Mum," he answered, regaining control of his voice. "I think she's having liver failure. I looked up the symptoms in one of the books you left here, because I knew alcohol could cause it. She's…vomiting blood and she's jaundiced…"_

_ "Is the ambulance on its way?" Rowan asked, in full doctor mode. Doctor, rather than father, was his primary mode, even when it came to his son._

_ "Yes, they should be here any minute," Robert answered, going back to the bathroom and seeing Isabelle passed out next to the toilet. "Dad, she's passed out!"_

_ "Just stay with her, Robert. Ride with the ambulance, it'll be faster. I'll meet you at the entrance."_

_ Robert pushed the end button and sent the phone crashing to the floor, sitting down next to his mother, hardly noticing that he was getting blood on his clothes in the process._

_ Twelve hours later found the seventeen-year- old in the ICU waiting room, almost dozing off. He'd been kicked out of his mother's room a few hours ago despite his protests, while the doctors attempted to do anything they could to save his mother's liver. A concerned nurse had brought him a cup of coffee, which now sat half empty on the table beside him, while Dr. Owens, upon seeing him when they came into the ER, had brought him a turkey sandwich which was three-quarters gone. He jerked in his seat at the sound of his father's voice._

_ "Robert," he said. "Are you awake?"_

_ "Yeah, sorry," he answered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as his father sat down beside him. "How's Mum?"_

_ Rowan hesitated for a second, but then shook his head. "It's not just her liver, son. She's also developed alcoholic hepatitis sometime over the past few months…her kidneys are failing too, which falls at an almost 100% mortality rate. We've tried steroids, dialysis for the kidneys, everything. She's reached the end stages...I'm sorry, she's not going to make it." _

_He put a hand on his son's arm, and the eyes of all the nurses at the nearby station were on the pair of them. As much as Rowan had tried to prevent it, the destruction of this family had been unfolding like a bad TV drama in front of the hospital employees' eyes for years; they'd slowly deteriorated from what seemed an idyllic young family to shattered pieces of a broken mirror, and Rowan's leaving, combined with Isabelle's worsening alcoholism, had been the baseball bat to the glass, forcing Robert to grow up much faster than was at all fair, forcing him to witness and experience things he never should have, especially not at his age._

_ Robert's eyes widened, and he stood up, his father's hand slipping from his arm. He felt he might pass out. _

_ "No," he said, shaking his head. "I would have noticed! I took her to the hospital at least four times in the past six months, the doctors would have noticed."_

_ "They probably all thought it was just alcohol poisoning; the symptoms hardly differ, and sometimes the worst ones don't appear until it's too late."_

_ "What about a transplant?" he asked, already knowing the answer._

_ "Not for an alcoholic, Robert. You know that," Rowan said, grasping his son's arm as though afraid he might do something insane, although he wasn't sure what. _

_ Robert jerked out of his grasp, backing away a step. "But for you, maybe…"_

_ "No," responded Rowan in a vehement tone. "No matter how much influence I have, it doesn't matter. It's against all medical guidelines. She knows that, and she still kept this up."_

_ "Don't talk about her like that!" Robert shot back. "She's my mother, and she's dying!"_

_ "Robert, she did this to herself. You have to accept that."_

_ "I'm not an idiot!" shouted Robert, not caring that all the people in the hallway were staring at the altercation between father and son, only caring that his mother was dying and there was absolutely nothing he could do. He'd never felt weaker. "I know this is from the alcoholism, I know she did it to herself, I know it was getting worse before you left. But I also know that it reached its peak after you left, and you didn't do anything to help. You didn't even try to force her into rehab, and I couldn't because I'm not a legal adult! You don't give a damn about your own family, but you'll spend your life in this hospital saving other people!"_

_ "Robert. Alexander. Chase." Rowan said, his voice lowering as he spoke his son's full name, a sure warning sign of his anger. "You will not…"_

_ "I could give half my liver and one of my kidneys," Robert persisted. "We're the same blood type. Maybe just the liver, and the kidney damage could be reversed…"_

_ "Absolutely not!" exclaimed Rowan, slamming his hand down on the table, sending the half empty coffee cup spilling to the floor. "There's not even a protocol for such a thing as a live two organ donation; it just isn't done. And I'm not risking your life to donate one; I won't consent and you're still a minor. You could die on the table right then and there for a procedure that might not even take, and I know your mother, despite her vices, wouldn't want that. I know it's hard, Robbie, but you…"_

_ "How long does she have?" Robert asked, cutting his father off, barely registering the use of his nickname, one his father hadn't used since he was a little boy._

_ "An hour, if that. She's not in pain, we've got her on morphine." he responded, looking unnerved at his son's sudden move from righteous anger to eerie calm. "You'll want to go say goodbye."_

_ Robert nodded, and without another word to his father made his way down to his mother's room, an odd calm settling into his bones. He put one foot in front of the other, on auto-pilot, concentrating on remembering to breathe, forgetting there were splotches of blood on his khaki shorts, the green stripes on the sides of his white sneakers tinged with red. He reached his mother's room and pulled the chair up next to her bed, as close as possible, and took her hand. He was there for nearly half an hour before her eyes fluttered open. He was unable to cry, and it scared him._

_ "Robbie," she said. "There you are darling. You've got blood on your pants."_

_ "Don't worry about it, Mum," he said, forcing the corners of his mouth upward in a painful smile. "How are you feeling?"_

_ "Tired," she said. "I'm so tired Robbie. I'm so sorry to leave you."_

_ "Me too," he said tears flooding his eyes, thinking that she looked a bit like a fallen angel, her golden hair splayed out on the pillows like a halo, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than ever, face paler than he thought was possible. "But I'll be okay. I promise you."_

_ "I know you will," she said, her voice hoarse. "You're such a bright boy, such a beautiful boy." She reached up to stroke his cheek with her finger. "I'm so sorry…for everything."_

_ "Please Mum, don't worry about any of that now."_

_ "Will you forgive me?" she asked, eyes tearing up. "I wasn't fair to you, I didn't try hard enough. It was just so hard…"_

_ "You don't even need to ask, Mum. I forgive you." A small voice in the back of his mind told him wasn't quite ready for that yet, that he was angry at her for leaving him because she couldn't stop drinking, was angry at her for hitting him, was angry at her for not holding on to the woman she once was. But he couldn't tell her that, not when she was dying. Half of him had forgiven her, and eventually the other half would. But he was only human._

_ "I'm weak," she said, meeting his eye. "You're not. You're strong, and you're smart, and you're the sweetest boy I've ever known. Remember that."_

_ "I will. Thank you for always believing in me." he said, his vision blurred from the tears that seeped at edges of his eyes. "I'll miss you…I love you, Mum. So much. I always will." _

_Memories of his younger years, before the alcoholism had sunk its claws into his mother, flooded his brain; Isabelle setting a cake before him on his fifth birthday while his friends sang along; her cheering him on at his football matches, decked out in his team's colors; her laughter when she wiped out on her board while he attempted to teach her how to surf; blowing him kisses from the audience during his violin concerts, a gleam of pride in her eyes. She used to be beautiful, he remembered, long blonde hair curling at the ends while it fell halfway down her back, her eyes that mirrored his own bright with life, her clothes free of the stench of alcohol._

_ "I love you too," she said, her breaths becoming shallow. "More than you realize. You deserved better than me. Robbie…" she said, squeezing his hand._

_ "Shhh," he whispered, leaning gingerly over to rest his forehead on her shoulder, still grasping her hand. "Just sleep, Mum. It's okay. Nothing hurts now." A sob escaped him, and Isabelle reached across with her free hand to rest it on the top of her son's head._

_ "Pray for me, Robbie," she said, her voice growing hoarser. "Please."_

_ He began a whispered Hail Mary as the machines next to him started going off, his free hand grasping the small golden crucifix he often wore, a confirmation gift from his parents a year before Rowan walked out. Robert glanced over as a flat line slowly made its way across the black screen, the screams of the machine sounding like victorious demons come to take his mother away. He heard footsteps entering the room and felt his father's hand resting on his shoulder, his head still resting on his mother's, tears dampening her hospital gown. The machine blared in his ears, but he couldn't move, couldn't let go of his mother's hand. His father's hand moved from his shoulder as Rowan moved to check her pulse. Finding none, he silently cut off the machines, resting a hand lightly on Isabelle's cheek and looking up at his horror stricken child, who had looked up at hearing the machines silenced. He might have been 17 and very mature for his age, but his features were still boyish, and when he was upset the emotion all went to his eyes, making him look like he had when he was a young boy. Robert stared at what was now his mother's corpse. _

_ "You have to let go now son," he said. "It's over."_

_ Robert kissed his mother's hand and placed it carefully back on the bed. He rose, nudging past the throng of familiar nurses and doctors standing in the doorway, each looking like they wanted to reach out, but not knowing how, and not wanting to step on Rowan's toes._

_ "Robert!" called Rowan, but Robert might as well have gone deaf. _

_ He walked the familiar pathway to his father's office and shut the door behind him, trembling all over and wrenching off his green sweatshirt as perspiration rolled down his face, white t-shirt starting to stick to his skin. He reached for the trashcan and proceeded to spill all the contents of his stomach inside, breathing hard. He slumped against the desk, holding the trashcan beside him. Rowan was there five minutes later, locking the door behind him as his son vomited once, twice, three times more. In a most uncharacteristic gesture, Rowan sat down on the floor beside his son, and as though he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, he pulled the tall, lanky teenager to his chest, arms embracing him._

_ Robert's entire form became wracked with sobs, his words barely coherent. He'd fought so hard the past few years, held steadfast in spite of everything, and he found it all flowing out of him in this moment. It was odd, his father holding him this way, but he needed someone and he was thankful for his father's sudden affection._

_ "This can't be happening," he said, nearly choking on his words. "She can't be…she can't be gone. Why couldn't she stop? I can't… I can't do this, Dad. I can't."_

_ "You can," said Rowan, rubbing a hand up and down his son's back. Guilt hit him like he'd been punched in the stomach. He hardly knew his son anymore, couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged him, had only found out Robert was Valedictorian of his class on the day of the graduation ceremony, when his son was announced. "I know you can."_

_ "Just kill me too," Robert whispered, hands clutching the edges of his father's stark white lab coat, the edges of the laminated name tag pressing into his cheek. His mother might not have been a positive constant, but she was a constant in his life nonetheless, a much more prominent constant than Rowan had been for many years. "She's gone…and you…" he breathed in, water obscuring his vision completely. "You don't love me, no matter how hard I try, no matter how well I do. You just feel obligated. I'm not what you wanted…you left me even before you walked out."_

_ Rowan felt the knife of guilt twisting in his gut. "Robbie…" he breathed, feeling tears of his own coming to his eyes, an incredibly rare occurrence. "Of course I love you, I always have. You're my only child, my own flesh and blood. Don't ever think otherwise, my boy."_

_ "It's too much," Robert sobbed, unable to argue. "It's too much! I couldn't save her! Why couldn't you fix her?"_

_ "She was too far gone," answered Rowan. "But it wasn't your fault, do you understand that? You couldn't have known." He pulled back slightly from his son, realizing he was still covered in his mother's blood and had likely lost everything he'd eaten in the past two days. "Come on," he said, brushing the hair out of Robert's eyes. "Let's get you cleaned up."_

_ Robert remembered that night very clearly, remembered sleeping in the strange, cold guest room of his father's house, unable to cry after his initial break down, unable to get a deep breath, wishing he was in his own room at home. He remembered waking up the next morning and calling his best friend Andrew, asking him to spread the word to their group of friends, then called his mother's remaining family and friends, telling them the news and letting them know when the services would be. He remembered planning the funeral, picking out his mother's favorite hymns and readings with great care. But the only thing he remembered about the funeral, aside from watching with listless eyes as his mother was lowered into the ground amongst a sea of people dressed in black, was his father's decree after it was over._

_ "You'll be staying with me for the summer until you go to University," said Rowan, all traces of the father who had held him mere days ago missing in action. "I'm selling the house, so we'll need to pack everything up. You'll need a place to stay during university breaks in any case."_

_ For once, Robert could come up with no snappy retorts, only a barely uttered, "But… there's other family, and Andrew's parents offered…."_

_ "You're 17, still a minor for quite a few more months," Rowan had said. "No arguments. You're not an orphan, Robert, and I'm your father. A new home will do wonders for you."_

_ Yes, Robert thought bitterly, a new house will certainly cure having a dead mother and a father who is emotionally disabled._

Chase reached up and felt tears sliding down his face, hand shaking from emotional distress, from talking about a day he hadn't discussed in years. Cameron was silent from shock. Chase sat up, facing away from Cameron, the trembling starting in his legs and moving rapidly through his body. He felt a sob caught in his throat, trying with all his might to shove it back down.

"Robert," said Cameron, the sadness evident in her gentle whisper. "It's okay to let me see." She tugged at his arm, but he didn't give.

"I can't," he protested, resting his head in his hands and clenching his teeth. "There's more to tell, I promised I'd tell you everything…I can't break…I won't."

"We'll get to the rest, I promise. Let's just take a break for a bit. It's okay," she said, unable to hold back tears of her own. "It's okay for you to cry, for you to break down. You _need _to. You don't always have to be so strong…"

"I do," he argued, shaking his head. "For my sanity I do. For you, I do."

"No," she said, tone firm. "You don't. That's what I'm here for. You've seen me break down more than once in the years we've been friends and colleagues, and even more honestly since we've been together. We're in this together. We're always in it together."

She tugged on his arm once more and he gave in as she pulled him to her, resting her head on top of his, rubbing a hand up and down his back as the sobs came forth. She'd seen him get teary before when they'd all thought House had cancer last year, or when he lost a patient, especially if it was a baby like during the maternity ward epidemic after Foreman had just joined the team, or baby Michael two years ago, but she'd never heard him cry like this, like a broken little boy who had experienced far too much of the nasty side of the world, and it felt like someone had taken an anvil and slammed it into her chest. She held him closer.

Suddenly, an underlying reason for why he'd chosen intensive care as his specialty was clear. He wanted to try and save the lives of critically ill people where he couldn't save his mother, was forced to keep his cool and think clearly during intense situations in order to save the lives of his patients, pushing his own emotions even deeper so that they didn't cloud his judgment. For a person that obviously felt and cared deeply, that was no easy task, but his job allowed him, required him even more so than other doctors, to keep his emotions in check, and it bleed over into his personal life.

"I'm sorry," he uttered. "I should control…"

"Shut up," answered Cameron, kissing the top of his head. "If anything you control far too well. Just let go, I'm here." She felt the tears streaming from her eyes and down into his mop of blonde hair. "I love you, please know that."

"I love you too," he sniffed, burying his head in the crook of her neck. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I do wish they would have loved me, though. I tried to make them love me. Tried to make them proud."

His words cut Cameron to the quick, and she wished she could resurrect Isabelle and Rowan Chase from the grave and give them a piece of her mind. This was the core of the matter, and that single statement revealed much about Chase's character. He was usually eager to please; not because he was a brown nose, but because he wanted someone to be proud of him. This had presented itself very clearly in Chase's relationship with House. She recalled the light in Chase's eyes anytime House would say he had a good idea for a diagnosis, and even now, when House asked Chase to do surgeries, or get involved in his betting schemes during the contest for his new fellows.

Cameron's heart raced in her chest at his words. How awful could it be for someone to think his own parents didn't love him? _He thought you didn't love him, either_, a snide voice whispered in the back of her head. _Because you were too stubborn to admit you did, too afraid, even though you'd had burgeoning feelings for him since before the first time you slept together. You even told him he was the last person you would fall in love with when it was the farthest thing from the truth. _She shook her head, focusing on the task at hand. She had changed, was working on letting down her walls, and feeling guilty now wouldn't help him. She placed a kiss on the top of his head, pulling back slightly to make him look her in the eye.

"They did love you. They didn't treat you right at all, but I know they loved you." she said. "Your mother was selfish and your father was controlling and obviously emotionally challenged, but they did love you. I could tell by the way your father looked at you that he loved you, even though he acted like an ass half the time. The eyes never lie. And if your mother hadn't loved you, she wouldn't have felt so guilty for the way she behaved. And she said she was proud of you, don't forget that. You are not unlovable, do you hear me? Quite the opposite."

"I hope so," he said, sitting up and leaning his forehead against hers.

"Trust me," she said, intertwining both of her hands with his. "There's no way."

AN: Hi all! I'm glad to see folks are reading; I get a little thrill every time I see someone has added this to their story alert list. And thanks for the reviews, and here's a shout out to Dellende, your reviews are awesome! I hope I did justice to the characters here…writing Rowan is difficult, because though he is a definite ass, I didn't want to write him as an evil man because he's not that black and white. Chase's mom was tough too, so I hope it works. I also hope Chase and Cameron seem right as well, because they both develop so much during the series, and I want to capture that. More to come!


	4. Fathers and Father Figures

Getting to Know You

Chapter 4: Fathers and Father Figures

Ten minutes later found the pair in the kitchen, Cameron rooting through the refrigerator and Chase sitting on one of the barstools by the island.

"Aha!" Cameron exclaimed with glee. "Found it."

"Found what?" asked Chase, leaning over to get a better look at the two bottles she'd grabbed from the back of the refrigerator.

"Sam Adams Octoberfest," answered Cameron, sliding one of the bottles over to her boyfriend and settling down across from him. "Your favorite."

"You remembered," he said, shooting her a tight smile.

"Of course," she said. She hesitated for moment. "I understand now why you don't usually drink hard liquor…but I thought you might like one of these. My parents always keep it for this time of year."

"A good thought," responded Chase, raising the bottle before taking a sip.

He traced his finger in circles on the granite countertop, pointedly averting his eyes from Cameron while she studied him intently. He was clearly embarrassed about losing it in front of her, although she had expressly encouraged him to do so. It was progress however, and it would be foolish to think the knots he'd tied himself up in for years would all come undone in one night. She knew from personal experience that it took time. She was still untying hers, and Chase was the reason she'd tried in the first place.

"I sort of feel like a 16-year-old sneaking beer," he chimed in, chuckling a little.

"Being in the vicinity of parents can have that effect, even when you've been legal for years," Cameron agreed. "But Peter beat us to it; there was already one missing."

Chase laughed, taking another sip and falling silent again. He wanted to go on, but was too content enjoying this moment with Cameron, felt comfortable with her, yet wasn't sure what to make of the rush of memories flooding his mind, of the intense emotions that had poured forth mere minutes ago.

"Babe, please quit overthinking," said Cameron, resting her elbows on the counter. "I can see the wheels turning in your eyes."

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by what Chase asked next, but it still startled her.

"Allison," he began, meeting her eye. "I don't want to make you angry, but I have to ask." He stopped, running an unsure hand through his mussed hair. "I'm not just another sad case you want to fix am I? Don't get me wrong, one of the things I love most about you is your capacity to care, it's one of your most beautiful character traits, one of the reasons I was attracted to you in the first place. But I have to know; are you with me for me?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, meeting his eyes directly. "I know I have a penchant for a bleeding heart, but I'm with you for you. I wanted to know about your parents because the things that happened with them are an inherent part of who _you_ are." She poked him in the chest to emphasize. "I know I care about as much as I breathe, but I care about you on an entirely different level."

Chase nodded, leaning across the island to give her a swift kiss on the lips.

"Sorry I'm…" he started.

"Expressing emotion? Acting like a human being?" she teased, trying to lighten the mood before they delved back into his past. She shook her head, laughing as a thought popped into her mind.

"Care to share with the class?" he asked, a curious grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His choice of words caused her to laugh even harder.

"What?" he asked, impatient. "Come on, tell me."

"You know," she said, trying to stifle her laughter. "People sometimes say that Foreman takes after House. But you do too, in some ways. You don't even realize it."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, thinking she was insulting him.

"It's not a negative thing," she said. "House pretends like he doesn't feel, but he does. He just tries to hide it from the world because he doesn't want to look weak, obviously likes to keep it to himself. Like someone else I know." She reached for his hand across the counter, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Is that why you're with me?" he chuckled, but she knew it was only half-jokingly. "Because I have some alleged House personality traits?"

"No, Chase," she said firmly. "You're still you, and that's what makes me want this relationship." She ran gentle circles with her thumb across Chase's palm, thinking how many lives his hands had saved with their careful precision. "You're incredibly sweet, romantic, and you can read me like nobody else. You're so much fun, and I can be silly with you. I love watching you with children, and the way you always make them laugh and smile even when they're in a hospital. And even though I'm not sure where I stand in my spiritual life, I adore the fact that you still hold on to your faith. For someone that's gone through what you did, it's impressive. But as far as House, goes, I promise I have a point."

"I know you do," he said, eyes meeting hers with a glimmer of curiosity. "Keep going."

"You don't laugh at his jokes because you want to brown nose, you laugh because you have the same sense of humor," she continued. "You think outside the box medically; you saved that little girl by realizing she was allergic to light when not even House did, and you realized Fran was being poisoned because the house next door was being fumigated. You just got that look on your face and took off. You've had creative ideas since I've known you. And now you're willing to do risky surgical procedures for House because you believe they'll work." She squeezed his hand, looking him straight in the eye. "But I don't want you to become as cynical as House is, trying to push away even the people who care about him, trying to shut people who love him out of those really personal elements of his life. We've both got that tendency in us sometimes. That's why I wanted this talk tonight; to keep it open between us. You do have some of the positive aspects of House's personality; I just don't want you to pick up the destructive ones."

"All right, I give. I know we have some similarities," he said, brow furrowed in thought. "Damn bastard. No matter what shenanigans he gets up to, I still care about him. Probably always will. I never told anyone, more like he swore me to secrecy, but a couple of days after my suspension started, after the hearing about Kayla, House showed up at my door."

_Chase lounged on the couch, flipping through the television channels and munching on some popcorn, clad in a pair of old jeans that were perfect for wearing around the house, and a t-shirt sporting the logo of his favorite football team from Australia. It was the third day of his week-long suspension. His mates Jake and Will who lived in the same apartment complex and who he sometimes played guitar with at open mic nights, had invited him to see a movie, but he'd declined, saying he wasn't feeling well. He enjoyed their friendship, but at the moment wasn't much for company. He jumped up when the phone rang._

_ "Hello?"_

_ "Dr. Chase?" came a familiar female voice. "It's Dr. Cuddy."_

_ "Hi, Dr. Cuddy," he said, a slight frown creasing his features. "Is everything okay? Do I need to come down to the hospital?"_

_ "No, Chase," she answered, chuckling a little at his hyper-vigilance. "I just wanted to call to check on you. I wanted to tell you I'm sorry about your father. Losing a parent is hard enough, but being shocked like that…I can't quite grasp the fact that he didn't tell you when he was here."_

_ "Yeah," replied Chase, touched by her concern. Cuddy was a tough woman, she had to be, but her inner core was incredibly kind. He'd admitted his father's death to her before the hearing, because he didn't want to lose her respect. His conversation with House had given him some perspective "It was a pretty good whack to my system. Thanks for standing by me, Dr. Cuddy, I really appreciate it."_

_ "You're an excellent Doctor, Chase, and I don't say that lightly," she said. He could picture her packing up her bag at the end of the day as she spoke to him on speakerphone, dark curls pulled back to keep out of her way. "And you can tolerate House. You've got the record for the longest time employed, I think the longest record before you was six months, and you've been working for him for nearly three years. You should get a Nobel Peace Prize, or something. In any case, please don't be too hard on yourself. This happens at least once to every doctor. We're only human after all."_

_ "I'll try," Chase said, both Kayla's and his father's faces flashing in his mind. _

_ "I'll see you in a few days, Chase. Goodnight." _

_ He could hear a smile in her tone, and it was oddly comforting. He'd always liked and respected Cuddy. She knew that to Cameron and Foreman too, she'd always been a bit of maternal figure in their workplace; a beacon of sanity, which was nice when you worked for House._

_ "Goodnight." As soon as he placed the phone back on its charger he heard a knock at the door._

_ "Geez, so popular all of a sudden…" he muttered._

_ He had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping at the face greeting him at the door. _

_ "House?" he questioned, unable to think of anything else to say, and rather feeling like he should pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, as he could think of no other reason why his misanthropic boss would show up at his apartment door at eight o'clock at night._

_ "I'm so touched you remembered," said House, placing a dramatic hand to his heart and prodding the door with his cane. "Well don't just stand there wombat, let a cripple in already."_

_ Chase wordlessly moved aside and let his boss in. He shut the door, turning around as House sat down on the couch, deep blue eyes gazing around at some of the framed paintings of Australian landscapes hanging on a few of the walls, a series by a Melbourne artist to which Chase had taken a liking, along with the massive amount of rugby paraphernalia on one wall. Momentarily struck mute by House's appearance in his apartment, Chase could only stare._

_ "Decided to grow a beard, huh?" House asked, eyes moving away from the paintings as he picked up the remote to flip through the channels. "Trying to copy me with the unshaven look?"_

_ Chase ran a hand over the slight hair growth on his face, finding his ability to speak again._

_ "What are you, the shaving police?" he asked. "I just didn't get to it, I guess. What are you doing here, House?"_

_ "I'm hurt!" House exclaimed, making a mock sad expression, lips pulled downward in a clownish fashion. "You don't want me to visit?"_

_ "House."_

_ "Fine, you're no fun. Do they not teach that concept in Australia?" He kicked back on the couch, tossing what appeared to be one of those bouncy balls up in the air. "I came because I knew you'd be here wallowing in your guilt over losing your patient, and endlessly trying to figure out why your ass of a Dad didn't tell you he was dying," House said, gesturing haphazardly with his hands. "And if you didn't talk about it, I knew you'd still be wallowing in it when you got back to work, and I really just don't feel like hiring a new Intensivist, and Foreman and Cameron aren't usually as willing to go along with some of my more insane procedure ideas. Happy?"_

_ "So…you want to talk?" asked Chase, dumbfounded. "To me? About my personal problems?"_

_ "Unfortunately it's necessary. Annoyingly, they won't just disappear, but maybe this will take the edge off. I know you won't talk about them voluntarily, even to your closest friends from old Aussie, so force is the only option." said House with an exaggerated sigh. "But we'll get drunk first. So go change, we're going out."_

_ "Who's driving?" asked Chase, knowing the futility of arguing with his boss. "I don't know about you, but I'm not much for driving intoxicated. Tends to either end in death or arrest. And the cabs here are creepy."_

_ "Wilson," answered House in a very matter of fact tone. "He'll be here in ten minutes, so hurry the hell up. No primping. And shave. I don't want people thinking we're twins. It would ruin my street cred."_

_ "Right," said Chase, walking toward his bedroom door, unable to stop from laughing. "Because we look so much alike."_

_ "You're a sneaky bastard, I'm a sneaky bastard. Birds of a feather!" shouted House through the wall._

_ Chase shook his head as he pulled a pair of khaki cords and a navy blue polo from the closet and quickly dressed, grabbing his grey Converse from the closet floor. Too tired to argue with House, he quickly shaved, and after running his fingers through his hair and spraying a bit of cologne for good measure, he stepped back out into the living room to find Wilson sitting on his couch, while House was rummaging through his fridge._

_ "Geez, what's with all the healthy crap?" he asked, holding up the carton_

_of soy milk. "Low fat cheese, fruit galore, lean beef, vegetables. The only respectable stuff you've got in here is some energy drinks and birthday cake ice cream in the freezer."_

_ "I thought I might actually try to follow the healthy eating guidelines I always tell my patients to follow," answered Chase. _

_ "Hey Chase," said Wilson, cutting off House's next comment and greeting the younger doctor with a warm handshake. "You doing okay?"_

_ "I'm fine," answered Chase repeating his mantra while smiling at his boss' best friend as he met his concerned brown eyes. He'd always liked Wilson, always marveled at House and Wilson's unique relationship and Wilson's determination to stand by his oddball friend through whatever happened. "Thanks for…"_

_ "Enough with the niceties," House cut in, ushering them toward the door. "Let's go. Get your coat, you idiot," House said, gesturing toward his fellow, who was grabbing his keys off the rack. "It's November in Jersey."_

_ "Yes, dad," Chase mumbled sarcastically under his breath, rolling his eyes._

_ "I heard that!" sniped House in a mocking tone, turning to prod the younger man with his cane as he spoke the last word, before falling into stride with a laughing Wilson. "Better lock the door behind you, son," he said sarcasm lacing his tone. "Or dingoes will break into your apartment. I hear they don't much care for wombats."_

_ An hour later found Chase and House sitting at the bar nursing their drinks, while Wilson was stuck outside on the phone with his angry wife, leaving his rum and coke abandoned. Chase was on his second Guinness, while House was drinking a gin and tonic, which Chase kept eyeing with contempt._

_ "Did you and my drink get in a fight or something?" asked House, taking a swig. "You keep looking at it like it's Satan or something. You Catholics don't like him, right?"_

_ "It's nothing," Chase said, taking another gulp of his drink, feeling House's piercing blue eyes on him, trying to read his mind._

_ "Yeah, okay," said House. "Spill. I'll be so drunk by the end of the night I won't remember anyway."_

_ "Yeah right," responded Chase, turning to face his boss. "You remember everything. Sherlock Holmes remembered down to the tiniest detail, and he was on cocaine. You're not much different."_

_ "Fine. I'll just wait here patiently until you decide to tell me." House stirred his drink, the ice clinking in the glass. He stared at Chase, watching as he flinched at the sound._

_ "Stop that," said Chase. "You can't bore through to my soul with your eyes."_

_ House merely raised his eyebrows, continuing to stare awkwardly at his employee._

_ Chase sighed, knowing there was nothing for it but to answer the question, albeit with minimal detail. _

_ "My mum…" Chase began, astutely avoiding his boss' penetrating eyes. "She drank gin and tonics more than anything else. And then she died, so I tend to have a rather strong aversion to them." His voice contained an almost harsh, throaty quality that House wasn't accustomed to hearing from Chase, probably a tactic developed many years ago to keep his emotions at bay when discussing this particular topic. _

_ House ceased his awkward stare and furrowed his brows together, eyes squinting slightly, looking as he often did when attempting to solve a medical puzzle. At that moment he saw Wilson coming back into the bar, looking exasperated after his conversation with his wife, which probably had involved many variations of the phrase "why are you spending more time with that ass of a friend instead of me?" Chase, whose back was to the door, didn't see him, and as the young man's eyes were firmly fixed on his drink, House mouthed, "He's talking, stay over there," to Wilson, while making a shooing motion with his hands._

_ Wilson, looking disgruntled but pleased, ordered another rum and coke, along with some mozzarella sticks, then moved to a corner table out of sight, but still able to watch his friend perhaps show a rare moment of the very real humanity he tried to keep so hidden, something to which Wilson always enjoyed a front row seat, if only to remind House of it later._

_ "Did she die of the DT's?" House asked, analyzing Chase, whose body position had gone from relaxed to tense the moment his parents had entered the conversation, the laughter at the earlier conversation with Wilson about the strange shenanigans of some of the interns gone from his eyes. Two girls looked like they were about to come over and flirt with Chase, but House shot them down with one look. He was on a mission._

_Chase wasn't as good at hiding emotion as he thought he was, House thought, but he was damn good at keeping his personal life a secret, much to House's chagrin. If it hadn't been for Rowan Chase making his impromptu visit, House would have only managed to find out minimal details about the young Australian, which frustrated him to no end. _

_ "Liver failure," Chase answered, looking up briefly. "She'd unknowingly contracted alcoholic hepatitis and had kidney failure. There was nothing they could do. Even my dad couldn't do anything, and I was angry at him for that. As a doctor now I know he was out of options, but back then…" _

_He swallowed the rest of his Guinness and gestured to the bartender to bring a third. House, he noticed, had pushed his empty gin and tonic to the side and pointed out Chase's drink to the bartender, then pointed to himself. _

_ "How old were you?" asked House, hearing a sliver of sympathy entering his voice despite himself. _

_He felt a sudden rush of anger at Chase's parents. He felt a connection with the younger man; having conflicting feelings of love and hate for your father, and loving your mother intensely despite her mistakes, in Chase's mother's case, a refusal to fight alcoholism for her son's sake, and in House's his mother's refusal to admit that his father ever abused him, was something to which he could strongly relate. _

_ "17," Chase answered, taking an even longer swig of his beer. "Lived with my dad for that summer before University, and sometimes came home for breaks, but I think we both tried to stay out of each other's way; we didn't know how to interact anymore." _

_Chase didn't even know why all these words were tumbling out of his mouth, but he was too tired to put effort into stopping them. House had a way of getting people to talk. Everybody lies, but House's tactics seemed like some sort of human truth serum._

_ House settled himself on the barstool, sipping his drink slowly while watching his fellow, unusually quiet, hoping it would encourage Chase to keep talking._

_ "You know?" Chase questioned, a tinge of anger slipping into his tone. "So many people at the hospital always think I live off my Dad's money, that I was a spoiled kid who got everything he wanted in life because of his father's influence. It really pisses me off." _

_His accent was thickened significantly from both the alcohol and the anger, and House had to fight to keep from laughing at the sound, for once keeping his taunts about Chase's nationality to himself._

_ "Yes, you have to be so completely unlike other human beings that you don't want to mention you have a famous doctor as a father at all. Everybody else in their right mind would have mentioned that in a job interview," said House, rolling his eyes. "That could get you a job in about a million places."_

_ "Not your fellowship," Chase argued, his inhibitions starting to weaken. "I didn't mention him at all to you. Or to anyone. But the last name gives me away, I guess. And the accent. And that fact that's he written medical textbooks galore. Not to mention the fact that he called you and told you not to hire me because he wanted me in Australia."_

_ "One of the factors that made me want to hire you," House admitted with a shrug. "Made you interesting. I had hundreds of good doctors with glowing recommendations apply, but I didn't just want a bunch of doctors who'd been at the top of their classes; I wanted them to be interesting too. I get bored easily. Duh."_

_ "It's so stupid," Chase blurted out, as though he hadn't even heard House give him a backhanded compliment. _

"_Even before he left he tried to make up for not being around by buying expensive things. Always thought money was the answer. Don't get me wrong, I was really grateful that he helped out when I was too busy in school to work, and the things were nice, but he always tried to give me more than I needed or wanted in return for him not showing up for anything. Like it was some kind of unspoken deal between us. Most children probably would have been thrilled to have all the stuff, but it didn't make up for his almost constant absence. For him leaving me to take care of my sick mum." He stopped for a second, catching his breath, and chancing a glance at his boss, who simply gazed at him, Guinness in hand. _

"_As soon as I started residency," he continued, "I wouldn't take the money, but people always assume I just live off his wealth. If I wanted to do that, why would I be an Intensivist of all things? I could do something that required a lot less schooling and let me get a decent amount of sleep at night. I help people and make plenty to support myself. Foreman always thinks I'm just a rich boy; It sucks that he grew up where he did, but I can't help it that I had a well-off childhood, financially speaking anyway, and it doesn't mean I still take my dad's money. Rich kids don't just get an easy ride through life. Sometimes even Cameron thinks that, and we're supposed to be friends." _

_He stared back down at the bar, tracing his finger along the grainy wood, flashbacks of the night he'd slept with Cameron consuming his mind for a moment, desperately trying to forget the warmth of her lips on his. House, knowing what he was thinking about, silently wished he'd been a fly on the wall during that encounter. He'd noticed his two fellows' attraction perhaps even before they had, and he and Wilson had a bet with Foreman on how long it would take them to get together; Foreman was more skeptical, but Wilson had noticed the attraction too, although he admitted it would take some time because Cameron would be slow to admit how she felt. Especially after the one night stand, House had noticed how they always seemed to end up on the same side of the conference table, and how often their shoulders or fingers brushed. _

_ "Your dad sounds even more emotionally messed up than me," House suggested with a laugh. "Of course, I realized that when he didn't want me to tell you about his cancer. He was adamant about it…weird."_

_ "He's more messed up than you," Chase affirmed. "And has less of an excuse." He moved onto his fourth Guinness, while munching on the potato skins he didn't know Wilson had sent over. _

_ "Hmmm," was House's only response as he seized two potato skins for himself, munching on them slowly. Chase hadn't noticed that House was only halfway through his first Guinness; House had been drinking slowly in order to remember what Chase was telling him._

_ "Why did you do this, House?" Chase asked rather bluntly, but his voice was barely above a whisper. "Why did you feel the need to check up on me? It's not like you. I thought you used up your weekly caring quota after our conversation before the hearing." _

_ "I already told you," answered House gruffly, taking a long swig of his drink, while peering at his employee over the top of his glass. "Wanted you to start dealing with this so you didn't get on my nerves at work. I don't need you being afraid to make calls. As an intensivist, you've got to do that."_

_ Chase nodded, trying to not look as downcast as he felt, and took another sip. He thought of Kayla's two little girls, and how he wished he could do something to ease their pain. He remembered sitting with them for a while during Kayla's liver transplant, wanting to assure them that their mom and uncle would be just fine, their little faces pale with fear._

_House didn't know whether it was the alcohol getting to him, or whether it was the unused paternal instincts Wilson swore every man possessed, but he felt the need to reassure his employee. The truth was, he'd always liked Chase, mainly because he couldn't believe how long the young man had worked for him; most people, aside from Wilson and Cuddy, didn't have long term stamina for his personality and the shenanigans he got up to. Wilson had picked up on the fact that Chase seemed to see House as a sort of father figure, albeit a dysfunctional one, and although House had scoffed at his friend, in the back of his mind he knew it was true. House had never wanted kids, citing the pretense that he'd make a terrible father…but if he'd ever had a son, he thought he might have turned out a bit like Chase. He took a long swig of his beer._

_ "Alright. Fine. You tell anyone I said this, and I'll fire you, but I was con…con…con…"_

_ "Concerned?" asked Chase. "I'm okay. I told you that."_

_ "Yeah," said House, raising his eyebrows, obviously unconvinced. "This coming from the person who risked his entire career because he felt so terrible about the accidental death of a patient, a death that wasn't just caused by his mistake, that he concocted a blatant lie to make himself look bad in order to get the family to sue him on purpose so they'd at least get some money to make up for their loss. I showed up to your door and you were practically in your pajamas with that pretty boy face of yours unshaven for two days and purple bags under your eyes. That doesn't sound like someone who's okay."_

_ "I," Chase started to protest._

_ "Killed her?" House finished for him. "You didn't put a gun to her head. And in case you missed my coffee metaphor earlier, it happens to every doctor. You've got to quit blaming yourself. Quit drowning in Catholic guilt. Maybe if her idiot brother had bothered to tell us he had Hep C after the transplant, we could have been on the lookout for the cancer. Might have helped."_

_ Chase looked up, startled at his boss' odd show of kindness. The House version of kindness , anyway._

_ "I see you're finally listening to me," House continued, his expression serious, his voice raised slightly. "Your damn father had just died, and you didn't even know it was coming! That's a huge psychological shock. I should have told you, and in a rare moment of trusting humanity I thought I'd give Rowan one last chance to not disappoint you. Most people would have thrown up, or passed out, or cried, or at least told their boss and left work early. But not you, you're too stubborn." He poked Chase hard in the chest. "Even if you didn't want to deal with me you could have gone to Cuddy. She would have given you a day or two in a heartbeat. I get why you feel guilty, but don't let it consume you. Drink up, wombat." _

_ Chase took a long swig of his drink while House ordered himself another, still avoiding the gin and tonics. _

_ "I still can't believe he didn't tell me," Chase said, eyes fixed on the array of taps on the wall in front of him. House noticed a slight sheen in his employee's eyes, and watched him blink back the moisture with resolute determination._

_ "He was an ass," House said. "And as an ass myself, I pride myself on recognizing it in other people. He should have told you. But I'm guessing him coming to see you was his way of saying goodbye, messed up as that is. Especially considering that you didn't know it was goodbye." He clapped a hand to Chase's shoulder for a split second. "My dad was an ass too, so I get it."_

_ Chase nodded, smiling slightly as House shouted at Wilson across the bar to come back over._

_ An hour or so later, Chase had dozed off in the backseat of Wilson's car, and House took the opportunity to snap a picture on his phone for potential blackmail._

_ "Just go to my place," said House, massaging his leg. The cold weather always seemed to make it hurt more than usual._

_ "Chase's place is closer," Wilson argued. "I need to drop him off first."_

_ "He can just sleep on my couch," said House, wrapping his scarf more tightly around his neck. "He's gonna have one hell of a headache in the morning, and I want to be there to taunt him."_

_ "Right," said Wilson, sarcasm flooding his tone. "Couldn't possibly be that you care about someone who's worked for you for almost three years, that you might want to keep an eye on him for your own paranoid reasons."_

_ "That would be you," said House. "Not me."_

_ "Whatever you say," said Wilson as they pulled up next to House's apartment._

_ Chase followed them inside, eyes tinged slightly with red, bewildered as to why he was being ordered to sleep on House's couch, but too tired to care. House threw a blanket and a bottle of aspirin at him._

_ "Take this," he said as Chase caught it. "Or you'll regret it."_

_ Chase nodded, dry swallowed the aspirin, then promptly pulled the blanket over himself after tossing off his shoes, and fell asleep again. House turned back around to Wilson, who merely looked amused, a half smile on his face._

_ "What?" said House, tossing his cane at Wilson as he leaned on the counter and removed his jacket. Wilson kept on staring. _

_House sighed, exasperated. "Look. I would never tell him this, but the kid's a good doctor, and he's got a knack for diagnostics that I haven't seen in anyone else who's worked for me. It's why I'm harder on him. Cameron and Foreman are good too, but Chase thinks outside the box. Can't have him getting the yips because he lost a patient. You satisfied?"_

_ Wilson chuckled. "You have a funny way of showing you care, House. But you do."_

_Neither of them knew Chase was still awake, hardly able to believe his ears._

Cameron shook her head, trembling from laughter at the mental images of Chase's story, and pleased to know that her predictions on House's true opinion of Chase were confirmed.

"No wonder he told you not to tell anyone. Couldn't live down letting you sleep on his couch," she said.

"Nope," Chase said, a pronounced yawn interrupting his words. "He's never brought it up since. And I never told him I heard what he said."

Cameron, noticing his tired eyes, made a decision.

"How about we finish this tomorrow night?" she suggested. "I'm holding you to it, but you look exhausted." She smiled at him, loving the way his eyes lit up in response.

Chase agreed, leaning in to kiss her deeply before they made their way back into the bedroom, and Cameron couldn't help but grin at the tingles that shot down her spine. She pulled back from the kiss, hands gripping his arms gently, once again amazed at just how beautiful Chase was. He had a bit of a five o'clock shadow now, giving him a bit of a more rugged look, but he still looked like an angel. One of her new nurse friends in the ER had described his good looks as being almost ethereal.

Once they were back in her room she flicked off the light and they crawled into bed, facing each other. She snuggled in closer, one of her arms draped over him, and one of his curled under her. She moved as close as possible, wishing she could protect him from the pain.

"You're not angry at me are you?" she questioned, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "For bringing this up?"

"No babe," he said, eyes fluttering closed. "We need to talk about it. I need to talk about it. You jumped about Mike, now it's my turn. We've got to be more open, you and me. Especially with each other."

She nodded into his chest, her own eyes falling closed as they slipped into their dreams.

AN: Hello readers! Hope you enjoyed this chapter…I can't believe it ended up being so long, because I didn't intend for it to be, but there you go. I'm so glad to see a lot of people reading, but if you have a chance, drop a review; I'd love to hear what you think! The next chapter should be up soon!


	5. Making Memories

Getting To Know You

Chapter 5: Making Memories

The next day found Chase more full than he could have ever imagined being, wondering how it was that Americans decided to celebrate the peace between pilgrim and Indian by eating themselves silly. It was called Thanksgiving, but he wasn't entirely sure what all that food had to do with giving thanks. At any rate, Cameron's mother and various relatives were fabulous cooks, and as a man who nearly lived on takeout, he had appreciated the change.

"You gonna live, Robert?" asked Peter, joining him on the couch with a sigh. "I'm not sure I am."

"I honestly don't know," Chase answered, smiling over at Cameron's older brother. "I think I've gained five pounds just from today."

"And there's always dessert later," Peter added, closing his eyes and resting his head against the couch. "And I'm claiming you for the soccer match the guys always get up to on Thanksgiving. Allison told me you played in high school."

"Yep," Chase answered, pleased that Peter liked him. He could see them being friends, he thought. "Played a little intramural in University too."

He looked over at Cameron, who was laughing with her parents and sister by the kitchen sink, as she and her father protested that Mrs. Cameron had cooked, so she wasn't allowed to touch the dishes. The room was still abuzz with conversation, as Cameron's various family members caught up with each other; Chase had never had his hand shaken so many times at once, what with Mr. Cameron's three siblings, Mrs. Cameron's two, along with cousins and Peter's wife and little boy, who had arrived today. He felt vulnerable suddenly, looking at her, remembering the things he had told her last night, the story he had promised he would continue tonight. He remembered breaking like the shattered glass he'd knocked off his nightstand a few weeks ago, but the pieces of him, jagged and shattered, were still on the floor. The good news was, there was someone to pick them up this time. He was content in the moment however, to enjoy the holiday with Cameron's family.

"You don't know how thrilled my parents were when Allie said she was bringing you home for Thanksgiving," Peter said suddenly, catching Chase's attention and distracting him away from his overly full stomach. "She's really secretive about her life in Jersey sometimes. Secretive in general, really. About the important things. But I'm guessing you've noticed that?" He grinned.

"A bit," Chase laughed, remembering how thrilled he was as Allison let him slowly into the deepest crevices of her life, knowing that she hardly did that with anyone. She might wear her heart on her sleeve when it came to some matters, like her many instances of moral outrage at House, or the death of a patient, but when it came to her heart, she let very few penetrate the deepest walls. She had changed these past few months, however. They both had. She hadn't changed so much that she wasn't the Cameron he'd always known, and sometimes she still mystified him, but he rather thought that this was the Cameron that had existed before her husband died, the one that gave off a glow of confidence as she walked through life. Having someone to come home to, he mused, had brought out the confidence in both of them.

"I haven't seen her this happy since before Mike died," said Peter, clasping a quick hand to Chase's shoulder as he rose. "And that was years ago."

"She deserves to be happy," said Chase softly. "I'm just glad I can help her achieve that."

Peter nodded, shooting a glance over at his sister. "Well, I'm off for the post-meal nap. See you after a bit."

Chase nodded, rising himself and going over to the kitchen.

"Need some help?" he offered his girlfriend, resting his elbows on the counter, remembering how they'd sat here last night, an aching sadness striking him again. She noticed, and flicked a soap bubbled at him in an attempt to cheer him up.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, swatting at the suds, which had landed on his nose, laughing at Allison's childlike glee.

"Now, now children," Christine piped up. "Here," she said, handing him a dish towel. "You can dry, Allie will wash, and I can put away. We'll be done in no time. Maybe it will burn off enough calories for dessert. You'll have to try some of the strawberry shortcake, Robert."

"Wish I could," he said, noticing that Christine had the same eyes as her sister. "But I'm allergic. I'll have to stick to the pumpkin pie."

"Bummer," responded Christine, reaching up to put something on one of the higher cabinet shelves. "Have you always been?"

"Yep," he answered, inching a tad closer to Cameron, ever content to feel the warmth of her body radiating toward him. She bumped him very gently with her hip. "My parents realized when we went picnicking when I was a toddler and I suddenly couldn't breathe. Luckily my dad had some allergies and carried an epi pen with him," Chase said, noticing how well both Allison and Christine knew the layout of the kitchen, despite the fact that they'd both moved out years previously.

Cameron smiled as she listened to Chase and Christine carry on their conversation, loving the fact that he fit in so well with her family, and when she'd been alone taking a morning walk with her father earlier, he'd only sung Chase's praises. She'd known he was allergic to strawberries nearly since they'd started working together, but she'd never heard the story before. For someone else, it might not have seemed like a huge deal to share the anecdote he was sharing now, but for him, she knew it was, especially to someone new. Chase said something that made Christine laugh, and Cameron felt a swell of affection rise up for her sister. It was odd, now that she thought about it; Christine reminded her of what she thought a younger Stacy Warner might have been like, with all the spunk and sarcasm. Chase's cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he gave the caller ID a quizzical look.

"I've gotta get this," he said, glancing up at her. "It's Foreman."

She nodded, grinning slightly at how easily he picked up the phone, glad that over the past few months Chase and Foreman had begrudgingly admitted that they might just be friends, probably had been all along.

"Hey Foreman, what's up? House doesn't have you working on Thanksgiving, does he?" Chase asked in greeting.

"As a matter of fact," came a voice that was most certainly not Foreman's from the other end. "He does. And how dare you not be here to do a surgery when I need you? The other surgeons are idiots, don't know how you work with them."

"House, why did you swipe Foreman's phone?" asked Chase, noticing that House had, by default, admitted that his former fellow wasn't an idiot, "Especially when you've had my number for the past four and half years? And especially when I'm on vacation?" Chase sighed, having grown used to his mentor's antics, although this was a new one. He watched Cameron raise her eyebrows as Christine looked on in interest.

"Figured you might not pick up if you saw my number, seeing as you're not here at the hospital, and might predict I was just calling to screw with you."

"Which you are," Chase said, shaking his head but unable to suppress a grin.

"Well sure," answered House. Chase could picture him leaning back in his desk chair, throwing the red and grey tennis ball up and down with one hand. "Foreman let slip you were visiting Cameron's parents before he'd had his coffee this morning, which might have been because it was five a.m. So. How are things going? Do the Camster's parents like you?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Chase said, drumming his fingers on the counter. "But it's going just fine. Go torture your team instead of me, please. And tell Foreman I hate him."

"Can do," answered House. "You kids behave now. I know how much you like doing it in closets, but you might want to be careful…"

"Goodbye House," Chase said, blushing slightly and slipping his phone shut and turning to look at Cameron, rolling his eyes. "The man will haunt me in the afterlife," he said. "I swear."

A few hours later, after dessert, coffee, and the soccer match in which Chase and Peter had helped decimate the other team, found Cameron in the kitchen pouring two glasses of red wine while Chase showered. She had never been much for sports, but she got a kick of watching the men make fools of themselves, especially the ones how had little athletic ability. She mused as the waterfall of maroon liquid flowed into the glasses, incredibly glad she'd accepted her parents' invitation to bring Chase home for Thanksgiving. She'd thought of mentioning it herself, but her mother had beaten her to it. She'd been apprehensive at first, about bringing him here, blending her two lives like that. But it was a sign of the commitment she'd been afraid of months ago, and she wanted to show him she was as serious about the relationship as she professed she was. Actions speak louder, after all. She heard the soft sound of slippers padding down the hallway.

"Hey sweets," came the voice of her mother. "Taking a glass up to Robert?"

"Yeah," answered Cameron with a smile at her mother. "He went to jump in the shower after the soccer game. Dad asleep?"

"Passed out," laughed Elizabeth. "Everything all right in the land of love?"

Cameron turned, raising a single eyebrow, glasses in hand.

"Why do you ask?"

Elizabeth smiled a little, leaning against the counter and gazing at her daughter.

"Robert looked especially happy today," she began. "But there was also some kind of vulnerability in his eyes…and you two stuck close. Just an observation."

Cameron rolled her eyes good naturedly; her mother was naturally adept at reading people, and it made her a good psychologist. It had annoyed her when she was a teenager, but Cameron had always been close to her mother.

"We started talking," Cameron admitted. "About the details of his parents, his childhood. We're going to keep talking tonight. "She raised the wine glass slightly. "I thought wine might be helpful."

"I'm glad," Elizabeth said. "You do have the magic ability to get people to open up."

Cameron looked suddenly downcast. "I just…I hate to see him hurting. Even when he's not willing to admit he's upset it all wells up in his eyes. I just…"

"I know," Elizabeth said, leaning in to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek. "But just be there for him. Like he was there for you when you told him the whole story about Mike."

Cameron nodded, returning her mother's kiss before heading back up the stairs. Upon entering her room she put the two glasses on the nightstand. She rapped on the bathroom door, opening at Chase's "come in."

She found him having just stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, shaking some of the excess water from his hair.

"Too bad you're out already," Cameron said, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders. "I was thinking of joining you," she said, shooting him a grin like a Cheshire cat.

"In your parents' house?" he questioned, pulling back a little to look at her, an amused grin on his face that made her want to kiss him senseless. "Aren't there rules about that or something?"

"Don't know," she responded, giving in to her urge to kiss him. She felt him sigh into it, comforted by her presence. They broke apart, and she grabbed his boxers and t-shirt from the counter and chucked them at him with a giggle.

"At least now you don't reek of sweat and dirt. And aren't covered in grass stains," she said, rolling her eyes at him as she slid the red and white striped pajama pants that had been a present from her sister last Christmas.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "That's the smell of victory. Peter and I make an undefeatable team."

It went quiet between them for a few minutes as he got dressed and she ran a brush through the snarls in her hair created by the chilly wind during the soccer match. He sat down next to her on the bed, the ghosts of the stories he would tell clouding his eyes. Cameron handed him the glass of wine, knowing that merlot was one of his favorites. He took a sip, taking her free hand and absentmindedly playing with her fingers. He breathed in her scent, adoring how the vanilla shampoo she used lingered for hours after she'd showered.

"Everyone headed to bed?" he asked, taking another small sip of the wine, letting its sharp, bittersweet flavor seep into his senses. That was a perfect word to describe his life, he mused. Bittersweet. Wonderful things mixed with events that had threatened to send him to his knees, nearly unable to get up again. He gazed at Cameron once more, loving her so much that he ached.

"Headed there," Cameron answered. "Might be a while before sleep comes, but things have settled down at least. Ran into Mom in the kitchen. She said Dad was passed out already." She smiled slightly, but there was a look in her eyes he couldn't read.

"You all right babe?" he asked, sitting up to get a closer look at her face.

"Yeah," she said, turning to face him. "I'm just glad when my parents are happy together. I don't think there's ever been a huge threat of them splitting up, but they are the definition of opposites attract. I'm more like my mom, and Peter is more like my dad." She met his gaze, and he saw a glimpse of the meeker Allison he'd met when she first started working for House, six months after he had. He had thought, even back then before he knew any details about her life, that she was hurting from something that had happened in her past, something that had quashed a part of her that started to re-emerge slowly over the next few years.

"Mom is softer," she continued, "and sometimes when Dad is trying to prevent her from getting hurt, or thinks she's being unrealistic, they fight. It doesn't happen so much anymore, but there was period when I was younger, they had communication problems."

Chase reached up and massaged her back gently. "You never mentioned that before."

Cameron sighed, leaning into him. "I guess I never did because they really are happy together; they've been in love for close to 40 years. It just scares me sometimes, I guess, but I know I'm lucky to have the family I do."

Chase nodded and kissed the side of her head, a wall of silence driven between them as the clock on the wall hit 9pm, the soft sounds of bird chirping as it struck the time. Chase chuckled silently, figuring it made sense that Cameron would have had a clock like that in her childhood bedroom.

"Your family's really great," Chase whispered. "There's a firm bond there. But don't blame yourself for worrying, I think everyone does. But I don't want you to think something bad will happen between your parents because it did between mine, love."

"I guess I just unconsciously plan for the worst sometimes," she said, pulling him toward her and wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Before we start where we left off last night in your story, tell me about a happy memory with your parents. I know there must be some. I'd love to hear."

"There are," Chase admitted with a melancholy smile. "There's one that stands out particularly in my mind, back when my paternal grandmother was still alive and lived down the street."

_Eight-year-old Robbie knelt on the sand beside the black and white checked picnic blanket, building a sandcastle with his grandmother, his tan skin and royal blue swim trunks covered in salt crystals. Robert had set to building the moat, and was on his hands and knees, digging deeper. Isabelle, her waist length blonde hair blowing in the sea breeze, was setting out the picnic lunch on the blanket while Rowan perused a book. Once Isabelle had set out the food, she pulled out the camera and began taking candid shots of her family, most of them consisting of Robbie looking determinedly at the sand castle as he put on the finishing touches. _

_ "My goodness Robbie," said Anna Chase, a few of her silver-grey hairs falling loose from her bun, her Czech accent strong even after 11 years in Australia. "Whoever taught you how to build such a magnificent sandcastle?"_

_ "Daddy," answered Robert, handing his grandmother the shovel to help him finish the moat. "He said you taught him."_

_ "That I did," she answered. "We used to have quite a bit of fun together building these castles with your grandfather when we went to the shore in Europe." She glanced over at her son, whose eyebrows were furrowed in concentration upon his book. "Rowan, do put that book down and come help us. You too, Isabelle. The food will keep a few minutes."_

_ At the older woman's beckoning both parents came over. Isabelle plunged her hands into the sand as she sat next to her son, kissing the top of his head._

_ "It looks lovely darling," she said. "We should take a picture once it's done to make sure we remember it."_

_ Robert nodded vigorously, kissing his mother's cheek in return. He looked up at his father, who was patting down the top of the castle, watching the exchange between his wife and son with a small smile._

_ "Do you like it Daddy?" Robert asked, curious blue-green eyes meeting Rowan's hazel._

_ "Absolutely," answered Rowan, realizing once again just how strongly Robert resembled Isabelle. He was tall for his age, and had his father's nose and ears, but otherwise he looked very much like his mother. They had a particularly strong bond as well, always had. "It's a masterpiece! Meant for the sandcastle hall of fame." He mussed his son's hair affectionately._

_ Robert grinned, the spot where he had recently lost a tooth adorably visible. A few minutes passed and the castle was finished, so the family sat down to eat, the blanket spread with cheese, crackers, grapes, apples, a few different kinds of sandwiches, water, and soda. Robert, who was growing constantly, reached for everything._

_ "Not so fast, love," warned Isabelle as Rowan rested his free hand lightly over hers, while she gazed at her son in amusement. "You know how you get the hiccups."_

_ Robbie nodded, trying to take smaller bites of his turkey sandwich._

_ "So, Robbie," Anna chimed in. "Your mother tells me you've made a new friend at school, and he's on your football team."_

_ "Andrew," said Robbie, eyes brightening even more at the mention of his friend. "He just moved here from Sydney. His father's a doctor too, but he doesn't work at the same hospital as Dad. And he's a really good football player."_

_ "He's a nice boy," Rowan said. "Nice family. Must be smart too, if St. Claire's let him in halfway through the year. Did you tell your grandmother you made all A's last term, Robbie?"_

_ Robert nodded, and Anna beamed at him, always proud of her grandson, always glad she lived so close and was able to witness all the ins and outs of his young life. _

_ "My next football match is next week, gran. You should come," he said, polishing off his sandwich and starting in on the grapes. "You could meet Andrew."_

_ "I wouldn't miss it," answered Anna, shooting a glance at Rowan as if to say that he had better not let work get in the way of his son's game. He met her gaze, knowing what it meant, and nodded slightly, a soft gleam of happiness in his eyes at this simple moment in time._

_ "They made t shirts for the families," Isabelle said. "So I picked one up for you. They ended up running big, though. Mine nearly swallows me up, but they're nice to have."_

_ "Well thank you, dear," said Anna. "And thank you for packing all this food. I'm about full to bursting."_

_ Isabelle laughed. "Well, I can never tell how much to pack these days. Robbie gets hungrier by the day. I think he might outgrow you, Rowan," she said, smiling over at her husband._

_ "He just might," replied Rowan, pushing a strand of light brown hair from his eyes. "You want to go down to the water Robbie? Show me how well you've learned to surf?"_

_ "Yes!" Robert exclaimed, punching his fist into the air as his father hoisted him atop his shoulders and grabbed the small green and white short board, his deep laughter echoing across the beach, the Czech accent still noticeable._

_ "I think I'll come too," said Isabelle, tossing her sunglasses onto the blanket. "You okay to stay here Mom?"_

_ "Absolutely," said Anna, settling herself down on the lounge chair and nodding at her daughter in law. "You three have fun and us elderly folk will watch."_

_ "Rest up for dessert," Isabelle added. "I made Robbie's favorite chocolate cake."_

_ "Hold on a second, you three," Anna called out, seizing the camera. "Smile!"_

_ The camera clicked, and Anna couldn't suppress a smile at her grandson's goofy smile. She watched as Isabelle linked her arm through her husband's, and the trio jogged down the soft sand and into the crystal blue water, Robert still on his father's shoulders. One they were deep enough, the boy hopped down and paddled out on his board, his parents watching him carefully for any sign of danger. The first wave came, and he stood up on the board, his youthful whoop of victory ringing out as his parents cheered him on._

"It's a simple memory," Chase said, his tone soft. "But it's one of my favorites. We were truly happy together that day."

Cameron moved her head from his chest, looking up into his blue-green orbs, something striking her.

"That photo on your bookshelf…it's from the day you just told me about, isn't it?" she asked, reaching over to take a sip of her wine.

"Yeah," he said. "My grandmother kept it in her house until right before she died, then she gave it to me. I've got other pictures of my parents, but most of them are so stiff and formal. That one is honest. Things were okay for a while after that, but they slowly started to crumble. Mum started the problematic drinking when I was 10 or so; it wasn't as bad as when I was a teenager, but their marriage was starting to fall apart, and even then, I knew it."

_"Robert!" Rowan called from downstairs. "Are you ready? We're going to be late!"_

_ Robert, who had turned 11 a mere two days ago, was attempting to knot his tie, but couldn't quite get the hang of it. He had wanted to ask his mother, but had found her laying down with a headache, already dressed in her formal red dress for Melbourne General's annual black tie Christmas party, and hadn't wanted to bother her._

_ "Coming!" Robert shouted in reply, wishing they didn't have to go to the party at all. He liked many of the doctors and nurses his father worked with, but found the parties boring and the clothing he had to wear stiff and rather itchy._

_ He padded down the stairs, his new black shoes rubbing at his heels, and found his father frowning, the corners of his mouth turned down so far Robert didn't think it was possible. _

_ "Why isn't your tie done?" he snapped, beckoning his son over, clearly irritated. "Here, I'll do it." He seized the offending piece of green material and started on it himself._

_ "I couldn't get it to even out," answered Robert. "And Mum wasn't feeling well, so I didn't want to bother her. Is she okay?"_

_ "She has a headache," Rowan answered, tone a smidge softer now. "There. You're done. I'll go fetch your mother, but answer the door when your grandmother comes."_

_ Rowan was barely up the stairs when the doorbell chimed, announcing the arrival of his grandmother. Robert nearly dove for the door, glad to not be left alone with his parents. He was sure he'd seen his mother drinking gin earlier, and his father looked like he was about to abandon his usual calm and fly into a rage. He hated being late for anything, especially anything at the hospital._

_ "Hi Gram," said Robert, kissing his grandmother's cheek as he closed the door behind her._

_ "Hello darling," she said. "How…"_

_ But before she could even finish her sentence screams came echoing down the stairs. _

_ "Rowan, I've got a terrible migraine!" yelled Isabelle, desperation in her voice. "I can't go."_

_ "You're hungover," argued her husband. "And you will go! I just got named Rheumatology department head, and I won't have you missing this function."_

_ "Can't you just tell them I'm not feeling well? Surely taking Robbie gives you enough to show off? I'm just a trophy, after all, aren't I? Just something you dust to show off when you need me. Can't remember the last time we did anything romantic." Her tone grew biting, and her Aussie accent thicker. _

_ "Isabelle…" Robert heard his father growl. _

_ "Never mind me," said Isabelle. Robert heard the shaking of the aspirin bottle as she opened it. "You only show up to about half of Robbie's football matches anymore, and hardly ever come to his violin concerts. And you missed the honors ceremony you promised you'd come to! You only made an appearance at his birthday party this year, then you were gone again."_

_ "Robert understands I'm busy," Rowan argued. "I've been working all year for this promotion. And quit using that childish nickname, he's too old for it. And I have every right to show him off, as you say. He's my son, and I'm proud of his accomplishments. He's the smartest in his class."_

_ "Robbie," emphasized Isabelle, "is just 11, and needs to actually see his father, rather than just be carted around like a show dog to your work functions!"_

_ "He also needs his mother to perhaps stay sober in her free time," Rowan shot back._

_ Robert sighed, trying to muffle out the rest of the fight, and turned to his grandmother._

_ "It's the second time this week they've fought like this," he said, removing his black blazer from the closet where his mother had placed it after having it dry cleaned. "They're always angry."_

_ "Adults just don't have sense sometimes," Anna answered, smoothing out the creases in her grandson's jacket after he slid it on. "Why don't you come stay with me for a few days, now that you're out for Christmas break? We can make a gingerbread house like last year."_

_ "Really?" Robert asked, eyes widening slightly in excitement. "That sounds fun. Thanks, Gram."_

_ "Anything for you my boy," she replied, squeezing his shoulder, and sending a not so concealed glare at her son and daughter in law when they appeared at the top of the stairs. _

_ "You look lovely mother," he said in greeting, glancing at his mother's dark green gown, and then looking at his son, realizing from his slightly frightened expression that their argument had been overheard. "Everyone ready? Let's go."_

_ Robert remembered thinking his father's smile looked plastered on, like it took every ounce of his energy to even try._

Chase pulled his pillow over his face, sighing in frustration at the memory. He took a deep breath, wishing his heartbeat would slow. He could see his skin jumping as his heart pounded, and he didn't want Cameron to see how riled up he was. She placed a kiss on forehead.

"I'll go refill our glasses," she said. "Just remember to breathe, babe."

He nodded, watching her walk away, his mind drifting to the next story he would tell her, knowing that by night's end he would be exhausted, but still relieved that he felt he could trust her so completely.

AN: Hi all! Glad to see so many people are reading! Sorry for the wait, but grad school can be intense, especially at the end of the semester. I tried to put a bit more of Cameron's family in this chapter. Anyways, I hope you like this, and the next chapter should be up soon; this story has greatly expanded from what I originally intended, and I'm excited to write more. Please review!


	6. Questioning the Future

Getting To Know You

Chapter 6: Questions of the Future

Chase's muscles had visibly tensed, Cameron noticed. He had moved away from her slightly, sitting up and leaning against the mahogany headboard. His long legs were splayed out, but his arms were crossed over his chest. She placed her hand lightly on his knee, trying not to visibly react when he seemed to flinch involuntarily.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "That's a silly question, I guess. But…"

He shot her a small, tight smile. "I've just spent a long time building up walls," he began. "Even to my friends and colleagues, even to the people back in Australia, who saw my family disintegrate. Aside from those brief conversations with House and few short anecdotes to a couple of friends…I haven't talked in such detail about this to anyone…in years."

"I know," she said, squeezing his knee gently. "I feel the same way. Talking about it again is almost feels like a physical punch to the stomach. Knocks the breath right out of you. But I'm here for you like you're always there for me; we're learning together how to be normal human beings again, whatever that means."

Chase nodded, glancing up at her, feeling his heart going a mile a minute, and trying with all his will to remind himself that this was Cameron, and she would never scoff at how he felt or at any story he might tell her, even if they hadn't been involved. Nevertheless, fear of his memories and the feelings they might bring forth, coursed through his veins like poison, like the part arsenic medication used to treat African Sleeping Sickness. As he had once said, "I forgot to mention it's going to hurt like hell."

He felt Cameron's eyes on him and so continued to delve into his past. On impulse he reached for her hand and she squeezed it tight.

"My father had never been pleased about my even thinking about seminary," Chase began. "Not even when I was younger…"

_13-year-old Robert straightened his black tie as he took a glance in the mirror, trying to make sure his hair wasn't sticking up. It was longer that he'd kept it as a child, the ends falling a bit past his ears, but he liked it slightly shaggy, and his parents didn't seem to notice. Not that they noticed much these days, with their fights that threatened to tear apart the fragile glue that held their family together. He closed his bedroom door behind him and made his way down the stairs, stopping short at the bottom when he heard his parent's voices._

_ "You're not even going to show up at the party?" Isabelle asked. Robert leaned around the corner, watching as she placed a hand on her hip, cocking her head to one side in disbelief. "Friends from the hospital are coming, people from the Parish, Robbie's friends from school. And you, his father, aren't coming?"_

_ "I have to go back to the hospital after the Confirmation Mass is over, Isabelle. I've got patients and a mountain of paperwork. Robert will understand," Rowan argued. His voice was low and calm, and he used that condescending tone Robert had come to despise._

_ "Last time I checked there were at least 20 other doctors in the Rheumatology department," Isabelle said, sarcasm lacing through her every word. "And five of them are your own team. I'm assuming you wouldn't have hired them if they weren't overly qualified, and can surely handle watching the patients for a few hours while you come to your son's confirmation party."_

_ Robert felt his stomach drop, although he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. His father had been home less and less the past three years, ever since he'd been promoted to department head. He'd been a borderline workaholic all of his son's life, but this was beyond even that. _

_ "I'm not arguing with you," Rowan replied, seizing her glass off of the coffee table and sniffing the clear liquid inside. "Gin? Really, Isabelle? It's not even noon."_

_ Robert watched as his father dumped what was left in the glass down the drain, his mother's eyes narrowing ever so slightly, her fragile beauty somehow more pronounced that usual; her hair was swept away from her face in a loose chignon, a soft blue shadow highlighting her eyes, pale green dress flowing around her ankles. She was thinner than she had been six months ago, however, ribs almost visible due to her near constant diet of gin, tonics and soda crackers. Robert glanced up at the picture of his grandmother Anna with him at his first communion that stood on the mantelpiece, the goofy smile of a 7-year-old on his face, and desperately wished she was here with him. Her heart attack had come suddenly and in the dark of night, whisking her away from a grandson who was watching his world crumble around him. _

_ "For my nerves," Isabelle protested, drawing him back into the conversation._

_ "So you don't go into withdrawal, you mean," Rowan said. "Don't think I haven't found your secret stashes…"_

_ Robert stepped into the room, making himself known before they could get into another screaming match. _

_ "Robbie sweetheart," cooed Isabelle, trying to make it look as though they hadn't been fighting. "You look smart dear."_

_ "Thanks Mum," he said, watching her warily as she popped a breath mint into her mouth, he guessed in order to not have the smell of alcohol on her breath._

_ Rowan turned toward his son, eyeing him up and down with cold hazel eyes. "You look nice Robert. Your hair's getting a bit long though. I think it's about time for a trim. Can't have you looking like a hooligan."_

_ "I like it like this," muttered Robert, then more loudly, "I think it's time to go. We're supposed to be at the church 30 minutes early so I can line up with the rest of the class."_

_ "Your father and I have something for you before we leave Robbie," said Isabelle, touching Rowan's elbow. Robert felt a sudden pang of sadness at the idea that his parents were falling out of love, or rather, his father was, as it seemed that no matter what Rowan did, Isabelle appeared ever more desperate to keep her husband's affection._

_ "Oh, right," said Rowan, pulling a medium size black box out of his blazer pocket and handing it to his son. "There you are Robert. Just a token to mark the occasion."_

_ "I hope you like it darling," said Isabelle, putting an arm around her son's shoulder, barely taller than him now. "We ordered it from Italy."_

_ Robert opened the box to reveal a small golden crucifix hanging from a golden chain. It was the perfect size to tuck inside a shirt and put close to you heart. The cross had been etched with markings to make it resemble the feel and texture of wood, the small figure of Jesus sculpted to the last detail. _

_ "Thank you," said Robert, turning to hug his mother, who squeezed him in return. "It's very nice. I saw Father Jones with one like this. He said he got when he visited the Vatican last year."_

_ "We thought it was appropriate on your confirmation," said Isabelle. "Well, we'd best get going." She walked past Rowan without a word, kissing the side of her son's head before retrieving her shawl from the coat rack._

_ Robert turned toward his father, unsure of how to approach him, feeling as though they were almost strangers. He couldn't recall the last time his father had come to a football match even though Robert was a starter, and he'd completely missed his performance in the state violin competition. Isabelle still often attended, despite the fact that her nights were spent crawling deeper and deeper into a bottle. Rowan was pleased that his son was at the top of his class, but Robert grew tired of school being all they talked about. Most nights he didn't get home until past 8, if he got home at all._

_ "Thanks for the gift," he said, smiling at Rowan. "I can't believe it came from Italy. And thanks for making time to come to the Mass." He didn't mention how disappointed he was that Rowan was missing the party._

_ "You're very welcome," replied Rowan, returning the smile. "It's a right of passage, confirmation. Wouldn't miss it."_

_ At this, Robert reached out to hug his father, despite his better judgment. Rowan gave him an awkward one armed hug in return, patting him lightly on the back before breaking away. Robert turned away and followed his mother out to the car, stomach sinking even further. In an effort to break the frigid atmosphere during the ride over, Robert spoke up, as his parents certainly weren't going to do so._

_ "They talked about vocations during one of our confirmation classes," he said, twisting his fingers in his lap. "They said there aren't nearly as many priests as there used to be."_

_ "It's a noble profession," said Isabelle, smiling up at her son through the rearview mirror. "But it's not always an easy one. There's quite a bit of school involved, and certain things they have to give up. Not many are willing to sacrifice those things, or spend all that time in school."_

_ "I've always really liked the priests in our parish," commented Robert thoughtfully. "I'm too young to know anything for sure yet, but I might like to be a priest. I could help people, try to make a difference."_

_ Rowan slammed on the brakes when he reached the red light._

_ "What the heck, Dad?" Robert questioned. Rowan was always a meticulously careful driver._

_ "You will not," Rowan began, "under any circumstances, be going to the seminary."_

_ "Dad, that's years away, I was just saying…"_

_ "No!" said Rowan, voice rising. "It is out of the question. What a waste of your intelligence that would be."_

_ "Yes," Robert bit back with sarcasm, unable to help himself. "There can't have been any intelligent priests or philosophers. Ever heard of Thomas Aquinas?"_

_ Robert watched as his father's knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, turning white._

_ "Rowan," Isabelle tried to intervene between the red-hot tempers of her husband and son. "Let him speak."_

_ "Be quiet, Isabelle," Rowan said, eyes staring at the road in front of him. _

_ "You can't just tell me what to do with my life," argued Robert. "It's not yours."_

_ "I can if you want financial assistance to pay for your university and other higher education after you're done with high school," said Rowan coldly. _

_ Robert let out an indignant huff, leaning further back into the seat. "I'm glad you're not coming to the party. I don't want you there."_

_ He knew it was a lie before the words even left his lips._

Chase shifted his position, moving to rest one foot on the floor, moving it up and down nervously. He felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on, and was doing his best to repress it. He'd had a prescription for low dose Ativan for years for anxiety, but he rarely succumbed to taking them. He eyed his bag, knowing they were there, but didn't reach for them. It was something Cameron didn't know, and he wasn't sure he was ready to tell her. It was silly, he guessed, but ever since the first time she'd stayed at his apartment, back in the days of their friends with benefits stage, he'd kept them hidden in the back of his nightstand drawer. He eyed the clock. Only 10:30, which meant there was still plenty of time to talk. He wondered briefly why it was so easy for him to give emotional counsel to his critically ill patients, his alcoholic mother, his girlfriend, his friends, and on occasion his misanthropic boss, and yet it was hard to allow himself to work through his own past.

"Robert?" Cameron asked, voice a bit higher pitched than normal, like it often did when she was fearful of something.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Got distracted. Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this?"

"Yes," she said, furrowing her brow. "No deflecting. You wouldn't let me deflect."

"Fine," he said, sounding slightly like a petulant little boy. "But you won't find it weird to hear about your boyfriend's days in the seminary?"

"I've known for years you went to seminary."

"Yes," he replied, "But I haven't gone into detail…"

"Chase," Cameron protested, "If you didn't think it was weird to talk about my deceased husband, then this won't be either."

"All right, all right," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I suppose the next important event was the summer after Mum died, right before I was moving to Sydney to go to Australian National. I hadn't mentioned that I was still thinking of going to seminary after University to my Dad since that conversation in the car, but I knew my Mum had, in the few coherent conversations she had with my Dad after he left us…"

_Robert closed the massive oak front door of his father's house quietly behind him, the sound still bouncing off the wood floors. He'd seen his father's Porsche in the driveway, which meant he had returned from his two week business trip in New York City. He'd been consulting on some sort of autoimmune disease research project, something to do with Lupus, and Robert had rather enjoyed having the house to himself. He made his way up the stairs and into his bedroom, dropping his football bag by the door, reminding himself to put the grass stained clothes in the laundry later. He'd been out playing a scrimmage game with his mates, and was going out for pizza later with Andrew and Katie, Andrew's girlfriend. Robert had gone out with Katie's best friend Emily during Year 10 for a few months, she'd been his first kiss in fact, but she'd had to move to Sydney, and high school wasn't the best time for long distance relationships. He'd been thinking more and more about seminary in any case, but vocations directors encouraged dating before making a decision._

_ He fell on the bed, eyes landing briefly on the picture of Isabelle with him on graduation day, her smile broader than he'd ever seen it, but her cheekbones painfully thin. There was a glimmer of melancholy in her sickly blue-green eyes, as though somehow she knew there wasn't much left time left for her, thankful that she would at least be present for this milestone. His stomach churned at the thought of her, because he loved her so much, missed her so terribly, but also felt so angry at her addiction, angry that she hadn't been strong enough to change her life, to change for him. Yes, it was hard to detox and fight temptation, harder than most people realized, but she had hardly even tried. He supposed he should have been relieved, in a very odd sense, that he no longer had to worry day in and day out about keeping her alive, that maybe now he had a chance to be a normal teenager. But he knew the moment had passed; his experience had made him an adult before his time, and there was no turning back._

_Robert's posters were still rolled up next to each other in the corner, because this wasn't home. He'd save them for his dorm room. His violin case rested upon the top of his dresser, covered in a light dust because he hadn't picked it up since his mother died. A knock at the door announced the presence of his father, the knot that had been ever present in his stomach for several years twisted. _

_ "Come in," he said, sitting up on the hunter green bedspread, which he'd made sure was made this morning or he would have suffered his father's displeasure. _

_ Rowan's face appeared in the doorway, looking both curious and determined, his reading glasses still perched on the end of his nose._

_ "You weren't here when I got home," he said, sitting down in the desk chair. "Where've you been?"_

_ "Playing football in the park with some mates," Robert answered, tensing up already. He'd been around his father so little since he'd walked out, and they'd fought so much, that trying to have a normal conversation made him feel off-center._

_ "I see you haven't really unpacked at all since I've been gone," Rowan commented, gesturing to the collection of cardboard moving boxes by the closet. "This will be your room even when you've gone to school. I'm not planning on doing anything with it."_

_ Robert shrugged. "Didn't really see the need since I leave for school in a month. I'd just have to pack again."_

_ "True," Rowan agreed. "Speaking of school, I wanted to talk to you about your major."_

_ "Okay," Robert answered, reminding himself to be civil and avoid a knock-down, drag-out fight similar to the one they'd had a few weeks ago when he'd found out his father had been dating Dr. Owens, the friendly doctor from the ER, for nearly a year without bothering to inform his son. It wasn't that Robert didn't like Dr. Owens, indeed he knew he was lucky to have her as a potential stepmother, but he was still hurt and angry at his father for giving up on Isabelle, and couldn't believe that he hadn't even bothered to mention he was dating someone in the few conversations they'd had during the last year. _

_ "You're majoring in Philosophy," Rowan continued, starting to drum his fingers on the desk beside him. "May I ask what for?"_

_ Robert sighed, knowing his father wasn't going to like the answer. "I'm thinking about going into the seminary," he said. "And if I decide against, I'd like to teach, maybe at the university level."_

_ Rowan was shaking his head in disagreement already. "I've put you down to double major; pre-med and if you insist, Philosophy. I want you to have something to back you up when you realize this seminary nonsense is a waste of your time."_

_ "You can't just tell me what to major in," Robert argued, feeling the anger building up despite his attempts to stay calm. His father had mastered that, and it infuriated him. _

_ "I can if you want me to pay," Rowan shot back, the skin near his eyes crinkling as he squinted at his son, as though he simply couldn't understand him._

_ "I've already got scholarships," Robert said, keeping his voice as low as he could. "I could get loans to cover the rest."_

_ "You won't get loans when you have a father with my income," Rowan said, keeping that icy tone. "You can keep your Philosophy, but you're doing the pre-med as well. You're too talented at science and math to ignore."_

_ "I don't want to be YOU!" Robert shouted, giving into the urge. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"_

_ "Melinda agrees," Rowan replied, referring to Dr. Owens, "That this is a sensible decision. And I'm not asking you to be me, as you say, but you would make an excellent doctor…"_

_ "With all due respect, Dr. Owens isn't my mother," Robert said, cutting him off, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm down and try again._

_ Rowan gazed at him for almost a solid minute, the stubborn gleam in his eyes showing the smallest sign of softening. _

_ "No," he said, leaning forward a bit, giving Robert leave to notice the increasing tinges of grey in his father's light brown hair. "But she will be your stepmother soon. I asked her to marry me while we were in New York. We're having a small ceremony in two weeks, before you leave for school." His face was unreadable, and although there was a hint of a smile, it rather sounded like he was speaking of a business arrangement rather than what was meant to be a lifetime commitment of love. _

_ Robert opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn't quite emit any sounds. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, insults to throw at his father for knowing nothing about the real meaning of marriage after he was so willing to walk out on his family, for deciding to remarry a mere 2 and ½ years after he'd walked out on his original family after many years of neglecting them in favor of his work, and only two months after Isabelle had died. He half wanted to dial Dr. Owens and tell her to change her mind, that his father didn't know how to have a proper relationship anymore. _

_ "Oh," he said instead. "Congratulations."_

_ "Thank you," said Rowan, not noticing the slight sarcasm in his son's tone. "Now, what do you have to say about the school matters?" _

_ "I'll do the pre-med is you absolutely insist," Robert said, sighing in irritation. "But I'm keeping the Philosophy, and there's nothing you can do to change my mind. I've put a lot of thought into it, contrary to your beliefs."_

_ Rowan looked about to answer when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of Andrew and Katie. _

_ "I'm going out to dinner with Andrew and Katie," Robert said, standing up and sliding on a light jacket, knowing the evening would be a cooler one. "I'll be back around 8."_

_ "Fine," Rowan said, his tone clipped. "Don't forget the benefit tomorrow night. I expect you to be ready by 6."_

_ "Fine," Robert echoed. "See you later." With that, he left the room, his father behind him going in the direction of his study. Robert practically ran down the stairs, wrenching the door open to reveal Andrew's perplexed face, his dark brown hair ever in his eyes, already donning his Australian National University sweatshirt. Although Andrew was majoring in pre-law, and Robert in Philosophy, and now apparently pre-med, they would be roommates at school, sharing a suite with two other freshman boys they wouldn't meet until they arrived. _

_ "In a hurry?" he asked, as Robert locked the door behind him, hands shaking a bit out of repressed anger, and the two young men made their way toward Katie's new red convertible. It had been a graduation present, and she had since heartily volunteered to drive nearly everywhere. _

_ "Just my Dad," muttered Robert._

_ "Ah," answered Andrew, understanding quite a bit before he even knew the whole story. He'd been around Rowan Chase enough, been friends with Robert long enough to know the situation. "Don't worry mate. Let's just have some fun tonight. You can fill me in later."_

_ Robert nodded, the thought of going away to University, of starting over, lifting his spirits._

"I guess the next part of the story is to tell you about my year in seminary," Chase said, draining the last of his wine. "But I think I need some air first."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Cameron asked, looking wary as he pulled on one of his old University of Melbourne sweatshirts.

"No need for you to get cold," he answered, avoiding her eyes. "I'll be back in just a few minutes."

He placed a fleeting hand on her shoulder before closing the door and padding down the stairs. Cameron sighed, falling back against the pillows, an old conversation coming forth in her memory:

_"Don't push it," Chase said, eyes looking dully at the MRI screen in front of him, tapping a pencil up and down on the table._

_ "All this hate," Cameron responded, still looking straight at him. "It's toxic."_

_ "Then stay away," he said, eyes narrowing at her before taking a swallow of his coffee._

She'd been off put by his response that day, because they had gotten along well as colleagues from the very start, always had a good time working together, although he sometimes disagreed with her lack of objectivity, even though on particular cases he found that standard hard to maintain. They had considered themselves friends, and yet he hadn't wanted to share that secret with her. He'd shared a few things during the next couple of years, but nothing of any great significance. They'd laughed together while having a drink with Foreman after work, sharing funny med school anecdotes, or wondering what House might get up to next. He'd started to open up, as she had, during their friends with benefits stage, but it had only been during these past few months, during the start of their romantic relationship, that they'd begun learning each other's most intimate secrets. He was secretive by nature, although she knew she was as well. Still, they went about it differently; she was more open about some aspects of her past, and less so about its effects on her, while he was reluctant to talk about the past itself, yet its effects sometimes made themselves known despite his best efforts. She worried that the farther he moved back into his past, the farther he moved away from her, even if it was unconsciously, and she didn't want that to happen. This was meant to bring them closer, not cause him to shut himself off again.

The memory of showing up on his doorstep all those months ago, incredibly fearful of losing a chance at the relationship she'd wanted all along but had been too frightened to pursue completely, flashed in her mind. She remembered his surprised expression, the way he'd cupped her cheek and kissed her without hesitancy, despite the fact that she'd run when he'd asked for more, despite the fact that she'd kept turning him down, even when in the deepest part of her heart, she knew she had feelings for him. He'd kept pursuing her, and she'd eventually run back to him. And now, she wouldn't let him run. With that thought in mind, she pulled on her coat and made her way down the stairs.

A/N: Hi readers! Sorry for the delay, I just had to get everything settled to start my new semester. I hope you like this chapter, and if you're reading, please do drop me a review; I'd love to know what you think! And thanks to all who have reviewed, they just make my day. As for the next few chapters, here is a tentative plan: Chapter 7 will contain the seminary flashbacks, chapter 8 will contain a med school and residency flashback, chapter 9 the decision to apply for House's fellowship and leaving for the states, and then chapter 10 will involve more of Cameron's family as well as meeting Chase's friends mentioned in the first chapter. If I think of more flashbacks to add, I will, but these are the ones for now. Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Fear of Abandonment

Getting to Know You

Chapter 7: Fear of Abandonment

Cameron spotted Chase through the sliding glass doors leading to the back porch. He was sitting in a rocking chair, his breath making small white puffs in the air as he breathed in and out. She put her hand on the door, hesitating, knowing full well that Chase's first line of defense was anger. It was odd really, because in general he was such a sweet, laid back guy, usually slow to irritation, but when trying to defend himself against pain, especially the pain of his past, he often resorted either to feigned apathy, or more often, anger. It was a defense mechanism designed to push people away, and she saw past that. Almost five years of knowing someone tended to give such an insight. They'd had a couple of arguments in the past few months, mostly over Chase's jealous worry that she still had a crush on House, but they hadn't had a real fight, and she felt one coming on. They'd been in the wide-eyed and head over heels initial stage of the relationship, and now they needed to move deeper. She slid the door open, and he jumped from his position in the rocking chair. Her parent's house rested in a suburb just outside the Chicago city limits, so the sounds of the city echoed in the distance, the lights creating an orange haze across the inky blue horizon.

"Something wrong?" he questioned, a concerned frown on his face, yet thinly veiled irritation flooded his tone.

"No," she answered, sitting in the chair next to his and wrapping her arms around herself against the chilly night air. "Just wanted to come down here with you."

Chase turned to look at her, trying to figure out her strategy. "I said I'd be back up in a few minutes," he said, looking away again. "No need for you to freeze. You wear socks to bed even in the middle of July." He grinned a bit at her sheepish look, remembering the night of the fourth of July after they'd returned from a fireworks show. She'd been short on socks and found herself wearing a pair of fluffy red socks adorned with Christmas trees, causing him to descend into a fit of laughter. He was surprised at her next statement, although after years of knowing her, he supposed he shouldn't have been.

"I'm not letting you run away," she said abruptly, scooting her chair closer to him. "I'm won't."

He sat up straight, his posture rigid. "I'm not running from anything."

"You're running from the past," she argued. "You ran all the way across the world…"

"You ran after Michael died," he shot back, regretting his words almost as soon as they left his mouth.

"There's nothing wrong with starting over somewhere new like we did," she said. "But you keep running even though both your parents are gone and you live in a whole other country. Just let me in, Robert."

"What do you think I'm doing?" he said, voice rising a bit. "I've been telling you all this stuff…."

"And I can feel you shutting off the further we go!" she said, her own voice matching his.

"Like you don't do the same thing!" he said, shouting now as he rose from his chair, starting to pace back and forth. "You _literally_ ran like hell the moment I asked for more! Left me standing in the snow."

"I know I do the same thing!" she said. "I know. Which is why I spilled my guts to you a few weeks ago! I was taking a step forward. You were making it, you were letting me in. I can see you're trying to resort back to your old tricks, which is why you retreated down here! What happened?" She sighed in frustration.

"Because I'll let you in farther, and we'll get even closer, and then eventually you'll just leave," he said, his voice stony, yet he was looking directly in her eyes, the green orbs as turbulent as the sea during a storm. "We might as well just get it over with! You didn't want me in the first place, so what made you come back? Because I was pathetic? Because I'd just been fired? Even before any of this started, back when we first started working together and became friends, you were always hot and cold! Always!"

"Dammit, Chase!" She was yelling now too. "I'm in love with you, do you get that? And you're also one of my best friends! I know I'm not an expert on relationships, but neither are you!"

"Are we just wasting our time then?" he questioned, voice lower now. "Why bother?" Bitterness dripped from his every word like water from a leaky faucet. He knew he didn't mean it, but the fear and irrational fury were poison in his veins, spitting out of his mouth at this woman he so loved. "Perhaps we're too screwed up to have a relationship at all!"

"Maybe we are!" she shouted, unable to help herself, her face reddening in rage. "Our lives messed us up so much that we can't move forward. Do you really want us to be over?"

"You said it yourself," he said, voice hoarse from the shouting. "Years ago. All that hate is toxic. Maybe it's made me toxic."

His words were a minefield, and she wasn't sure she dared cross. She breathed in, steeling herself.

"I was always afraid to get close to anyone after Mike died, because it hurt so much to lose him. It's why I avoided romantic relationships, it's why I hid things from my friends, my family," she said, goose bumps popping up on her skin that had nothing to do with the weather. "I tried as I went to get better at it. And I came back that night because I knew the moment I saw you with that box of stuff in your hands, telling us that you'd been fired, that I was terrified of losing you, and not just as a friend and colleague. I'd been falling for you for months. I knew I needed to take a leap, something you'd already realized. I'd never think you were pathetic," she continued. "It was right, what happened with the three of us and House. It was time for the baby birds to fly the nest."

He didn't respond, just rested his head in his hands in silence.

"You can't just take it back," she said, voice shaking. "Not now. Not after Tuesdays, not after we've been together for almost six months. Not after it's been such a long time coming, us." She looked up at him again, the half-moon casting slices of light and dark around where he stood.

"I'm…afraid," he said, sitting back down on the edge of the rocking chair. "I trust you, and trusting people is something I rarely do. I don't want to hurt you, and I'm afraid I will."

"I'm afraid too," she whispered, grasping at this change in his demeanor. "Because I'm so afraid of loss. Just like you." She felt the tears well up in her eyes as he finally returned her gaze, expression softening. Here it was, one of the things that connected them at the core, their scares laid bare.

"But you lost your husband," he said, his own voice a whisper now, still not looking at her although she could see his eyes widening. "That's…"

"You lost your Mom at such a young age," she said, cutting him off. "And you lost your Dad years before he ever died. You lost a part of your childhood taking care of an alcoholic parent. We've both let our fear of abandonment color our lives, we just deal with it in different ways. And you're not toxic…I didn't know the whole story back then. I just wanted to help, but I went about it in the wrong way, and you weren't ready. I can be an idiot sometimes."

Much to her relief, Chase smiled, the angry fire in his eyes blowing out. "That's funny," he said. "I can be an idiot too. Must be contagious." His smile widened. "You offer such words of wisdom, Allison Cameron," he said, leaning in closer to her. "About what you said before, not about you being an idiot," he clarified.

"I've grown up a bit more over the past few months," she said. "We both have. But let me tell you something." She took his chin in her hand, forcing him to look at her. He'd always been the one to lead the way in their relationship, ever since the beginning, and now it was her turn. "I want this relationship to work. More than anything. And in my heart of hearts, I have a good feeling about it, really I do. But even if something went wrong between us, if we ended up on other sides of the planet, I'd still be there for you if you needed me."

Chase nodded, taking both of her hands in his. "The same goes for me. Absolutely," he replied. "I'm sorry I yelled, I just…"

"I get it," she said, squeezing his hands. "Now, are you going to tell me about your days as a holy boy?" she teased.

"Yes," he said, chuckling. "But first let's get back upstairs before you turn into Dr. Popsicle."

They both stood up, and before she could even make a move toward the door he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he started, "I…"

"I know," she said, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

She felt safe, she realized, a feeling that hadn't been present for quite some time. She leaned up and kissed him, their tongues sliding together like a couple dancing the tango across a ballroom floor.

Five minutes later Chase and Cameron found themselves sitting in the kitchen, having discovered a box of Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate, of the dark chocolate variety. Chase sipped at it, appreciating the warmth it sent flooding through his body. A small laugh slipped from his lips while he watched Cameron throw a robe on over her sweatshirt, sticking her hands inside.

"What?" she asked, indignant.

"We live in Jersey, and you're cold here?"

"It's just as cold here as it is there," she protested.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But you don't usually pile on this much clothing."

"My parents don't believe in turning on the heat very high," she said, taking a large gulp of her own hot chocolate. "Dries up their sinuses. Anyway," she said, sliding her arms forward on the counter, her voice more tender now. "Tell me what happened at seminary."

Chase sighed, the memories swirling around in his mind like moving photographs. "All right, if you insist, my dear," he said, doing a mock half-bow in her direction.

She rolled her eyes, trying to prevent herself from smiling at his antics.

"There are two instances," he continued, "That are sharp in my memory." He suddenly felt cold, the warmth of the hot chocolate receding from his veins. He slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the small Ativan pill there and swallowed it quickly while Cameron wasn't looking. He so often tried to fight through anxiety without his medication, but these two stories were almost more than he could handle. He hadn't thought about them in quite some time, and dragging them up again was less than pleasant.

_Robert was sprawled out on his bed, eyes closed while he waited for the aspirin to kick in. Yesterday had been his 21__st__ birthday, and several of his fellow seminarians had insisted on going out to the pub for some drinks. That's what he got, he supposed, for befriending several Irish seminarians. He was the youngest here, as he'd finished his undergraduate degree in just three years, but he fit in well nonetheless. _

_His last Guinness, he had decided, was one too many, and although he wasn't hung over, he did feel like there was a small man tap dancing across his forehead. He checked his watch, seeing that there were still two more hours until evening prayer. The rest of his weeks were always insanely busy, so he reveled in the down time Saturdays brought. Just as he closed his eyes again there was a knock at the door._

_ "Hey Rob," greeted his friend Ben, British accent strong as ever as he poked his head inside. "Father John asked me to come get you." He paused, looking a tad nervous. "Your stepmother is here."_

_ Robert sat up as though in slow motion, feeling as though his muscles wouldn't quite cooperate with him. _

_ "Melinda's here?" he asked, finally able to swing his legs over the side of the twin-sized bed and stand up._

_ "Yep," answered Ben, suddenly very interested in the framed poster of the Australian seaside on the far wall. The young Brit's eyes then flickered to the crystal blue rosary resting on the dresser next to the leather bound Liturgy of the Hours set, a gift from his Uncle Ira, Rowan's younger brother who still lived in the Czech Republic, a priest himself. Ben and Robert had gotten to be good friends over the past few months, some details about the young Aussie's family life having inevitably come up, so Ben knew that Melinda showing up was completely out of the blue. "She's in Father John's office right now, waiting for you."_

_ Robert grabbed his black jacket, pulling it over his hunter green oxford. During classes and on Sundays, first and second year seminarians were required to wear black pants, black shoes, and either black or grey polos, but Saturdays and free time were fair game. _

_ "Do you know what she's doing here?" Ben asked as they walked down the stairs together. "You don't look like you do." He brushed a stray auburn hair from his eyes, looking over at his friend. _

_ "No clue," Robert answered, shivering a bit as they opened the dormitory door and headed across the raindrop covered lawn to the rector's office, a small rainbow making its way through the clouds. "I've talked to my Dad, like three times in six months. He's not exactly happy I'm here."_

_ "I know," Ben answered, shaking his head. He stopped in his tracks once they reached the door to the administrative building. "But you said you liked your stepmother right?"_

_ "Yeah," Robert answered, pushing open the door, "I've known her since I was a kid. But I'm betting she's here on his errand."_

_ "Well come find me when you're done. I'll probably be watching the Chelsea football match," Ben said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good luck."_

_ "Thanks," Robert said, nodding and giving his friend a smile before heading inside. _

_ He walked down the oak paneled floors, listening as they creaked a bit beneath his step. He glanced at some of the familiar paintings on the walls as he went; Jesus and the Sacred Heart, the Madonna with the Christ Child, and a replica of da Vinci's Last Supper among them. He knocked on the door at the end of the hall, and went in at Father John's answer. Melinda turned around in her chair to smile at him, dark brown hair pulled half up. He noticed she must have dyed the few grey streaks out sometime since he had last seen her. Her gold-rimmed glasses were perched on the end of her long nose, hazel eyes peering at him, and it reminded him of his father. It also struck him in that moment that her physical attributes, hair, eyes, height, everything, was the complete opposite of how his mother's had been._

_ "Hello, Robert," she said, rising to hug him, noting that her brown corduroy jacket smelled of his father's pipe tobacco even here in London, all the way across the world from home._

_ "Hi," he managed to utter, still shocked. He hugged her back, remembering how kind she'd always been to him as a child growing up, supposing that it wasn't her fault that she'd lost all her senses and married someone like his father._

_ "I was just suggesting to Melinda that the two-of you get something at that charming little tea-shop down the way, Robert," Father John said, dark brown eyes containing a worried gleam as he ran a hand over his silver hair. His expression gave away the fact that he at least had an inkling of why Melinda was here._

_ "Evening Prayer is…" Robert started to say, looking down at his watch._

_ "You're excused," the rector answered, shooting his student a half-smile. "Don't worry about it."_

_ A few minutes later, Robert and Melinda were sitting at a table in the back of the tea shop, Robert with a cup of English Breakfast, and Melinda with Earl Grey. She'd also gotten a cinnamon scone, but Robert couldn't imagine eating anything at the moment, his insides were writhing with nerves. They'd made small talk on the way over, Melinda commenting on the beauty of the architecture and things like that, but they were running out of mindless things to speak of._

_ "You're doing well?" he asked, trying to smile at her. "The hospital is good, and everything? And Dad?" he added quickly, wishing he didn't care how his father was, but knowing there was nothing he could do to stop himself._

_ "Things are insane as usual," she said, pushing her fork down into the scone and spearing a piece onto it. "You know how it is. It was actually a bit of a relief to get to come here to London for the infectious disease conference. Almost like a vacation." She met his eye, looking uneasy. "Your Dad's doing fine. He's actually got a new clinical trial going, a new drug for Junior Rheumatoid Arthritis. You're doing all right? You like it here?"_

_ Robert shifted, uncomfortable with the look in her eyes. "I love it here," he answered. "It's really even better than I thought it would be. There's a lot of adjustments, but I've made friends, and it's awesome that it all worked out for me to come here." He smiled, feeling a swell of happiness in his chest while talking about his life here. Finally, finally, he felt at peace._

_ "I know you've been thinking about this for years," she said, brushing a hand across her long khaki skirt. "I think you'd make an excellent priest. You're wise beyond your years, and so sweet. And your mom would be proud of you."_

_ "Yeah," he said, a little shocked at the mention of Isabelle. He cleared his throat, hoping to change the topic. "Thank you for coming to visit me. It's nice to see someone from home. People here always tease me about getting the accent right." He grinned at her._

_ She laughed, her face lighting up, and Robert thought that his father had at least done something right in marrying Dr. Owens. After a few moments however, she became somber again._

_ "I hope you know that I'm not trying to replace your Mom," she said, lowering her voice so as not to be heard by the rest of the occupants of the tea-shop. _

_ "I know." A montage of Isabelle's face flashed through his mind; her childish grin while she spun him around in circles when he was 6, her utterly defeated expression the day Rowan walked out, and the pain in her eyes when he'd found her on the bathroom floor, vomiting crimson._

_ "But I do care about you," she said, reaching to put hand over his, her skin warm with motherly affection. "Always have. You were such a dear little boy, running around the hospital with such curiosity in your eyes. But there's something I need to talk to you about."_

_ "Dad," he said simply._

_ "He loves you," she said quickly, pulling out an envelope. "He always will. I need you to know that. But he…"_

_ "Doesn't want me here?" Robert said, feeling his heart start to pound. "I know. He's made that exceedingly clear. Especially seeing as he's only called about three times since I've been here. But that's nothing new, really. I know you want to protect me, and I appreciate it but…"_

_ "He's going to take a step that I am in complete disagreement with," she said. Tears started to fill her eyes, and he reached for the pack of tissues in his jacket pocket, handing her one. "He was just going to mail you this, but I took it, knowing I'd be in your area of the world." She slid it across the table to him. _

_ He picked it up, ripping open the envelope and sliding out the single sheet of paper. He felt an awful sense of foreboding. If he hadn't so been used to his father's nearly illegible doctor's script, he wouldn't have been able to make it out._

_ Robert,_

_ I hope you are doing well, and keeping warm in your new climate. England can get quite chilly, can it not? Although I do hope that you're happy, I have to tell you how displeased I am with your decision to go into seminary. You already know this however, so I will not go on about it. I'll be short about this, because it won't be pleasant. I am exceedingly disappointed, that, despite my best efforts to help you secure a bright future, you have turned them down. I know you believe you can help people in your chosen career path, and in a way you of course can. I have respect for all the priests I've ever known, but you were meant for bigger and better things, and your stubbornness is holding you back. I'm not insisting you go to medical school, but I'm insisting that you do something reasonable. You are ungrateful for my efforts to help you._

_ It is then that I must tell you that from this point forward, I will no longer initiate any contact with you. I will send you a small check each month to attend to your needs that the church doesn't cover. You are no longer a minor, so I am taking myself off as your medical proxy. You can make those decisions on your own, as you have been ever content to inform me. You are my son, so of course if there is some kind of emergency, or you are fatally ill, I will come see you, and will leave my number on any emergency contact forms. But that is all. Do not expect calls, visits, or letters. You may come collect your belongings from my house when you are on break. If you need to store anything, I will supply the funds for a unit. Melinda has leave to do as she likes, but unless you change your mind about your life choices, you and I will not have a relationship. _

_ I will always love you, but you are throwing your life away, and I refuse to be a part of that. _

_ ~ Your Father_

_ Robert clenched the paper in his hand, hardly even noticing he was shaking. The cheery fire crackling at the front of the tea-shop was somehow three times as loud as it should have been. _

_ "Robert?" said Melinda, moving her chair closer to his, and pushing her tea cup out of the way. "Are you all right?"_

_ "He's disowning me!" Robert practically shouted, causing a few stares from others in the shop. "I've decided to give my life over to God's service, to the Church's service, and he's disowning me?"_

_ "He's not…" she tried to reassure him._

_ "He is," Robert argued. "Unless I'm dying of an illness, get into some kind of car or plane crash, or have a psychotic break, he wants no contact with me. At all." His heart rate was rising, he could feel it beating in his throat. _

_ "I told you I didn't agree," she said, pulling him to her in a hug he barely had the strength to return. "I don't want you to worry. I tend to think he'll change his mind…"_

_ "He won't," he said firmly. "I know him, and he won't. But I'm not changing my mind. I've been considering this for years, and I'm happy here. I can do good here and in this kind of life. I love the Church and I love the people in it. He doesn't want to talk to me? Fine. I'm not giving this up. He essentially wants to orphan me because he thinks he knows best."_

_ She closed her eyes in defeat, knowing better than to try and argue the point. _

_ "I want you to know that I'll be there if you need anything," she whispered. _

_ "Thank you," he said, smiling in a desperate effort to convince her that he was okay. "I'll keep you posted on things. Thank you for the warning. And the tea," he said, picking up his mug and draining the rest. "I appreciate it. But I've really got to be going. Have a safe flight."_

_ He rose so quickly he knocked the chair over. He set it upright, and gazed at her for a long moment. Tears were flowing down her face, dripping onto the collar of her jacket. _

_ "I'm so, so sorry," she said. _

_ She hugged him once more and he placed a kiss on her cheek before nodding in goodbye and exiting the shop. He made his way down the street and back to his room in a matter of mere minutes, the cold breeze biting at his hands like his father's words did at the core of his soul. Dammit, he wished he didn't care. But he did. He cared so much that his heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode inside his chest. How could any father, even his father, voluntarily cut off contact with his child because he made a different decision? _

_Once he locked the door behind him, he picked up the picture of him with his parents at the beach. He was on his Father's shoulders, his mother's arm looped through Rowan's as she smiled up at her son. He looked at it for a moment longer, an awful feeling of longing spreading through his veins like wildfire, then threw the frame across the room, the glass shattering against the wall. With that, he checked his watch, seeing he still had five minutes to make it to evening prayer. He knew he'd been excused, but right now, prayer seemed like the only logical answer to what had just happened to him. He grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him, running on autopilot to the small church on St. Michael's campus. He spotted Ben and slid into the pew next to him just as the strains of "Be Not Afraid" were heard on the piano. He folded his hands, closing his eyes against the harsh words of his father's letter, deciding to talk to the Father who hadn't abandoned him._

_That night he crawled under the thick covers of his bed, and sobbed like he hadn't since the night his mother died, hoping to the heavens that no one on the hall heard him._

"Needless to say, I spent Christmas with Andrew's family," Chase said. "It was only a few weeks after this happened, and I'd already bought the ticket home."

Cameron stared at him, eyes so wide they looked like a cartoon character's. Chase felt numb.

"Can we finish this tomorrow night?" he asked, getting up and walking around the island to put his mug in the dishwasher. "I just…can't. And we've got a sledding date with Christine and Peter in the morning." His back was to Cameron, and he felt the salt stinging his eyes. He felt a warm, gentle hand pulling at his and he turned around. She was crying, and he hated himself for being the cause of it.

"Don't feel sorry for me," he said, having seen that look on her face so many times before as she looked at patients, and for a reason he couldn't explain, he couldn't stand having it directed at him. "Please, please don't."

"God Robert, just be quiet," she snapped, taking his other hand. "That's just so awful that I can't even quite comprehend it. That he would voluntarily… it explains… a lot about you."

"Ha," he said. "I suppose it does. But don't go thinking I'm miserable now because of it. I'm not," he continued. "I'm really, truly, not unhappy. What he did sucked, but I try not to think about it that often. It hurts just a little too much for me to handle. My mind almost shuts itself off from feeling anything when I talk about it. Which I usually don't."

"I know you're not miserable," she replied, arms encircling his waist, her head resting against his chest. "I don't know that you quite ever processed the story you just told me."

"I haven't," he agreed, resting his forehead against the top of her head. "I'm tired though. Really tired." He yawned, wishing his trembling hand wasn't giving away his emotions.

"Let's go to bed," she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. She looked at him, still not letting go, as though she needed to be touching him. Not that he minded. There was a question in her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, tilting his head.

"You do know I love you right?" she asked.

"We could do a polygraph to confirm," he said, unable to help himself. "Just to be sure."

"Robert," she said, a familiar warning in her tone.

"Yes," he answered. "You don't have to convince me. And just for your information, I think I love you too. Maybe." He pulled back a bit, amused by the adorably infuriated expression on her face.

AN: Hi readers! I know this chapter is pretty emotionally charged, but I'm hoping you like it! The update will come soon. And reviews make my day!


	8. Pity the Child

Getting to Know You

Disclaimer: I realized that I'd been forgetting to use disclaimers for this fic, so here's one. I don't own House, M.D. sadly enough, nor do I own the musical Chess.

Chapter 8: Pity the Child

Early the next morning Chase found himself sprawled out in the snow, his sled having hit a hidden rock and gone sailing through the air. He had thankfully landed on his back rather than his face, but he still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to move just yet. A moment later, Cameron was kneeling down next to him, strands of her long blonde hair tickling his cheek.

"Are you okay?" she asked, pulling her white hat further down over her ears. He was struck silent for a moment, suddenly remembering it was the same hat she'd worn the night she'd propositioned him outside the hospital, just after they'd completed Hannah the CIPA patient's case.

"Yeah," he said, sitting up and brushing the white powder from his coat sleeves. "Just got the breath knocked out of me. I think my pride's hurt more than anything else."

She laughed, the sound sending inexplicable warmth to his heart. He felt somehow closer to her this morning than ever before, and wondered briefly if anyone had heard them shouting last night.

"That thing was completely covered," said Peter, coming down to join them, small flecks of snow covering his neatly cropped dark brown hair. "You don't look any worse for the wear, though," he said, chuckling. "Allie challenged me to a race down the hill. You want to go stand at the bottom with Christine to judge who wins? Recover for a sec?"

"Sure thing," Chase said, picking up his own sled and heading toward where Christine was standing, looking thoroughly amused, one hand resting on her hip.

"No being biased though," Peter shouted down to him as he walked with Allison up the hill, sled slung over his shoulder. "I know she might threaten to withhold…"

He was interrupted by Cameron shoving him, nearly sending him toppling to the snow in his surprise.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Peter!" she shouted, voice shrill, a tinge of pink appearing in her cheeks at her elder brother's words. She swatted him once again.

"I do think the lady doth protest too much," Peter said, a grin sliding onto his face. "You may be my little sister, but I saw the way you two were kissing in the hall this morning when you thought no one was watching."

"How about we get back to the sledding?" Chase called, his voice cracking slightly. He was irrationally fearful of Mr. Cameron stepping outside and hearing the teasing, which could possibly lead to an interrogation about his sexual exploits with Cameron. He turned toward Christine, who was looking at him with interest, a smirk appearing on her lips. She seemed to sense his worry.

"You sure are paranoid," she commented, eyes on her older siblings as they finally reached the top of the hill and readied their sleds.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, curious as to what she meant.

She twirled a strand of her almost black hair around her finger, turning her gaze back to him. "You're so worried somebody in this family is suddenly going to develop an unexplained antagonism toward you. They're not. Everyone really likes you. Even Dad."

"Is it unusual for him to like people?" Chase asked. "Allison is a lot less verbal about him that the rest of you."

"When we were growing up, Dad and Allie were really close, but he didn't always understand her. She was the kind of kid who picked up every stray animal she ever found and tried to find it a home," she answered. "And when she decided to marry Michael…well, he wasn't exactly thrilled."

"She mentioned that in passing when we talked about Michael," Chase said. He could only imagine the scenario; Cameron telling her beaming parents that she was getting married, but that her fiancée only had six months to live. Not exactly the news parents want to hear from their children. He suddenly worried that perhaps they only liked him because he appeared to have a long life ahead of him, and not on his own merit.

"I mean, he went to the wedding, paid for a lot of it even. He wished them the best, but he didn't see the point of them getting married. He liked Mike, but he was also afraid it would crush Allie," Christine continued. "He's not a romantic, our father. He's a realist. They fought about it a lot."

Chase wanted to respond that Michael's death had crushed Cameron, but from the look in Christine's eye, he knew he didn't need to verbally express thoughts.

"He was really wary of you at first," she said, smiling at her siblings as she dropped her arm, signaling for them to come sledding down the rather impressive hill. "Allie had a fling or two after Mike died, even though she tried to hide them, but they didn't last long, and she didn't bring them home. When she brought you home, he knew it meant something, and his protective instincts lowered a little."

Chase averted his gaze from Christine for a moment, moving to look at Cameron's gleeful expression as she leaned forward, trying to beat her brother down the hill, her eyes bright with happiness. Sometimes he found it impossible to believe that he was actually in a relationship with Cameron, the woman he'd had an irreversible crush on since mere weeks after meeting her. They were very different certainly, but he also knew that at the inmost core, they were also very similar. Despite very different upbringings, they shared many of the same fears, and both felt things so very deeply, Cameron was just more open about it. A few years ago, when he had obliged Andi's dying wish for a simple peck on the lips from him, Cameron had pointed out, while out of the company of House and Foreman, that it was a very her sort of thing to do. She'd been proud of him.

"She's stronger than most people give her credit for," he said, looking back at Christine. "She's stronger than she realizes."

"You get her, somehow," Christine said, gesturing to him to back up a little as Peter and Cameron came hurtling to the bottom of the hill. "Keep it up." She pushed him playfully in the arm.

With that, Cameron came to a halt first, just edging out Peter.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, jumping up from her sled and pointing her finger in his face. "That's what you get for being so arrogant."

"Yeah, yeah," Peter grumbled good-naturedly, as Cameron ran at Chase, jumping into his arms.

"Oh," he said in surprise, pulling up his arms just in time to catch her. He enjoyed this fun-loving, childish side of her. He felt almost strangely privileged to be privy to this rarely explored side of her.

"Do I get a prize for winning?" she whispered in his ear, then pulled back to meet his eyes, arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

He raised his eyebrows, tightening his arms around her legs to keep her up. "I do believe I can think of something." She looked him straight in the eyes, her gaze hard and unwavering, an unidentifiable emotion written within. He leaned in to kiss her, feeling as though he were on fire, completely lost in the moment.

Twenty minutes later, Chase stood by Cameron's bedroom window with a cup of coffee, while she showered in an attempt to rid herself of the last vestiges of snow. He looked out at the trees, noticing a few stubborn leaves still hanging on to the branches, their bright colors sending him whirling into a memory.

_A chilly breeze blew against 12-year-old Robert's face, sending the fallen leaves swirling into the air, a collage of red and gold. Isabelle was having one of her ever rarer good days, and was sitting on the front steps of the house, watching Robert kick the football around, having had a sudden desire to be outdoors. He dropped the ball on the grass, eyeing a very satisfactory pile of leaves nearby._

_ "Mum!" he called, beckoning her with his hand. "Come over here."_

_ She complied with a mischievous grin, somehow already knowing what he was up to. She put her gin and tonic glass down on the brick steps, having only had a sip or two._

_ "Shouldn't you be studying, Robbie?" she asked, quirking one blonde eyebrow up at her son. _

_ "My homework is all done," he answered, scooping a few more leaves up into the rather gigantic pile. "It was a light day actually, and I got it done in study hall." He loosened his navy blue tie and unbuttoned the top of his light blue oxford, all part of the daily clothing regime of St. Claire's Catholic School, K-12. "There," he said, eyeing his work with pride. "All done. Come on, Mum." He offered his hand._

_ With that she placed her hand in his, and they backed up before breaking into a run, jumping with great gusto into the pile of leaves. They continued at this for a good thirty minutes, laughing so hard their sides were sore, until the sound of a car turning up the driveway was heard. His father emerged from the sleek silver BMW, deep brown briefcase in hand, a bemused expression on his face as he made his way over to them. It was the first time he'd been home before the sun went down in two weeks at least. _

_ "I see you're enjoying the afternoon," he said. Robert could swear he saw a smile playing at Rowan's lips. _

_ "You're home early," Isabelle remarked, pecking him on the lips. "Robbie convinced me to join him playing in the leaves."_

_ "Looks like fun," Rowan said, looking over at his son. "That's quite a mountain you've got there."_

_ "I don't know that we've ever had this many in our yard before," Robert said, eyes flickering up to meet Rowan's for a second, smiling a bit when he saw a twinkle of amusement resting in them rather than the disapproval he'd expected. "I thought we'd have some fun since I didn't have homework or practice or anything tonight."_

_ "Well, by all means continue," Rowan answered, not commenting on the glass of gin and tonic at the top of the steps to the front door, as he sat down where Isabelle had been earlier. "I'll just do my reading out here."_

_ "Come on darling," said Isabelle, ruffling her son's hair. "Let's make it even bigger. Maybe we can convince your father to join after he sees how much fun we're having."_

_ "Sounds like a plan," Robert answered, hugging his mother briefly before sweeping even more leaves up into the pile._

_ Robert attempted to hold on to the happiness the simple moment had brought him a few hours later as he holed up in his room, listening to the raised voices of his parents downstairs. It had started at the end of dinner, when Rowan had mentioned perhaps hiring a new cook, as he wasn't finding the current one satisfactory. One little disagreement had turned into a full blown fight, which wasn't uncommon these days. Now they were shouting about Rowan's two-week business trip to Sydney next month and the growing amount of gin in the pantry, but Robert felt that any conflict these days was like lighting a match to gasoline. He sighed, deciding to practice his violin for a while. He'd been recruited by his teacher to play in the orchestra at the Melbourne Theater's production of the musical Chess. He landed on a song titled "Pity the Child." The lyrics were included in the orchestral score, and his eyes moved over them, widening slightly the further he went__**, **__finding he related quite strongly._

_** "When I was 9, I learned survival, taught myself not to care/I was my single, one companion, taking my comfort there…"**_

___Robert undid the silver latches on the side of the black case as loudly as possible, trying to distract himself from the ever increasing volume of the shouting. Instead of enjoying the cheesecake at the table with his parents, their cook Margaret had gotten a piece and brought it upstairs to him, to enjoy in solitude._

"_**Up in my room, I planned my conquests, on my own, never asked for a helping hand, no one would understand/I never asked the pair who fought below/Just in case they said, no…"**_

_The soft strains of the violin pierced the air, overwhelming the yelling downstairs for a few minutes. He played on through the first verse, trying to get each of the notes right on the first try, when he heard the familiar sound of glass breaking. He tossed the violin onto his bed in frustration, eyes still roving over the lyrics._

"_**Pity the child who knows ambition, knows what he wants to do/Knows that he'll never fit the system others expect him to…"**_

"_Robbie misses you!" shouted Isabelle, voice shriller than ever. "Do you see how hurt he looks every time you tell him you have to miss yet another game or concert or school function, every time you tell him you won't be home to eat dinner with us?"_

"_I know all of that!" Rowan shouted. "Do you think I enjoy upsetting him? But what do you expect me to do? With work and my traveling and cleaning up after you all the time…"_

"_**Pity the child who knew his parents/Knew their faults, saw their love die before his eyes/Pity the child that wise…"**_

"_Maybe if you'd come home every once in a while instead of constantly being busy being a world famous rheumatologist, I wouldn't need cleaning up after!" Isabelle shouted back. "I know I've got a problem, but you won't even see fit to take part of the blame!"_

_Robert felt his entire body tense as they had the age old argument, the picture of earlier familial bliss amongst the cool fall weather long gone._

"_Don't you dare blame me for driving you to drink!" Rowan responded, his voice carrying up the mahogany spiral staircase. "You go on about me upsetting Robert? Well what about you and your bad habits?"_

"_**I never asked, did I cause your distress/Just in case they said, yes…"**_

_Robert closed the score, knowing he wouldn't be able to focus on practicing, the lyrics dancing around in his head. He had visions of running downstairs and begging them to stop, but he'd done that before to no avail._

Chase was jolted out of his memory by the click of door opening as Cameron exited, a light blue towel wrapped around her head.

"You want to hop in?" she asked, pulling the towel off and drying the ends of her hair. "Mom said lunch was almost ready."

"Sure," Chase answered, seizing a fresh pair of jeans and a red polo from the top of his suitcase, knocking his hip into the nightstand as he walked past.

Cameron eyed him, one eyebrow raised. "You okay, honey?" she asked. "You seem a little distracted.

"No worries babe," he said, shooting her a signature thousand watt smile, hand resting on bathroom doorknob. "I'm fine."

They spent the rest of the afternoon eating, chatting, and playing board games by the fire with the Cameron clan, Chase finding himself champion of a rousing but seemingly never ending game of Monopoly. He made to start helping with the board game cleanup when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning to find Mr. Cameron there, a small smile on his face.

"Good game there, Robert," he remarked. "Where did you learn your impressive skills?"

"Late night procrastinating in med school, I think," Chase answered, putting some of the blue, green, and pink dollar bills back in their places. "You almost had me, though."

"Almost," Mr. Cameron responded. "I was thinking though, why don't you take a walk with Allie, let her show you around the neighborhood a little? We can clean up here."

"Are you sure?" Chase asked.

"Absolutely. She's already gone to grab your coats," he said. Chase met his eyes, all of a sudden noticing how much they resembled his daughter's. "See you for dinner later."

He clapped Chase on the shoulder and walked away just as Cameron returned with their coats, the setting sun casting shadows on the floor.

"Ready?" she asked, taking his hand in hers. "There's a really beautiful park down the road I'd like to show you. It's really pretty when it's covered in snow."

"All set," Chase responded, buttoning his coat with his free hand. "Show me around, tour guide."

Fresh snow crunched under their feet as they made their way down the drive, Chase letting go of Cameron's hand in favor of wrapping a snug arm around her shoulders. She wrapped hers around his waist in response, leaning into him.

"Only one more full day in Chicago," she said, kicking a fallen branch out of their path. "Then we fly out Sunday afternoon."

"And back to the real world on Monday," Chase responded, thinking of the busy surgical schedule he'd scanned briefly before he'd left on Thursday, and that was without the many additions he knew had surely been added over the holiday. They spent so much time at the hospital that it was nearly disorienting to be away for several days, albeit in a positive, almost dreamlike sense.

"Let's not think about that," Cameron said. "Want to start off where we left off last night?"

Chase smirked, looking down at her. "Don't you mean this morning?"

She swatted him with her free hand, barely suppressing a mischievous chuckle. "You know that isn't what I meant, Dr. Sly," she said. "I mean in your story about seminary."

"Oh," he said, looking over at her, reminding himself to ask her about the earlier story Christine had told him. "That. Can we wait until we're by the lake to talk about my crisis of faith? I need some semblance of peace for that particular story."

"Sure thing," she whispered, kissing his cheek. He looked over at her, reminding himself to ask her about her father later, happy to have seen the pair joking around during the long game of monopoly.

Chase's memory started moving years back, to the peaceful days of clerics, faith, and the sounds of the city of London outside his seminary window, as they came slowly upon a small lake, surrounded by a grove of trees, the snow glistening in the setting sun.

AN: Hi readers! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Sorry for just the one flashback, but the next two need to be in a chapter together. I also hope you liked the look into Cameron's family. Please review!


	9. Broken Faith, Broken Son

Getting to Know You

Chapter 9: Broken Faith, Broken Son

AN: Hi all! Thank you so much for the reviews! Just a warning for this chapter, there is a mention of sex and a couple of curse words. I hope you enjoy this chapter, because it's extra-long, and I thought I'd post it in time for the new episode tonight.

Chase and Cameron reached the small, frozen over lake, which was surrounded by a small park containing a swing set, a few picnic tables, and several benches resting right on the lake's edge. There were more trees here than anywhere else in the neighborhood, the snow resting on the leaves and branches, creating a quiet winter wonderland in the midst of the city suburbs.

"I do believe in God, you know," Cameron said, as they settled themselves on one of the benches on the lake shore, Chase's eyes watching several children building a snowman off in the distance.

"I know," he responded, digging the heels of his shoes into the snow, a bit taken aback at her seeming need to make him believe her when he already did.

"I've just never been sure how much influence such a power had on our daily lives, or how much interest," she said, tracing circles on the chipped wood with her finger. "I like believing there is a higher power, that there's more than just this life, it's just…hard to comprehend sometimes."

"I get that," he said, smiling at her. "It's tough to contemplate, hard to wrap your mind around, really."

She scooted closer to him, her body heat warming him. "But your faith meant a lot to you didn't it? It still does, in some ways," she said softly.

"There are certainly still remnants there," he said, taking her hand loosely in his. "I could never be an atheist…I didn't stop believing a God existed back then, I was just so angry and so hurt, that I knew I couldn't stay there and pretend. I still love a lot of things the Church taught me. I told Foreman once, after he lost that patient, that when there's no one else to talk to, I talk to God."

"Do you think a part of you was hoping going to seminary would heal all the bad things from your childhood?" Cameron asked, speaking in a whisper as though they were walking on hallowed ground.

"I'd thought about being a priest since I was a young kid," Chase answered. "But yes, I think a part of me thought it would fix everything. And when it didn't, I felt the Catholic Church and God had failed me."

Silence fell between them for a few moments, a light breeze carrying the playful shouts of the children closer toward them and whipping their hair around their faces. Chase wasn't sure where to begin. Faith was such a fragile thing in a world as harsh as the one they lived in, easily huffed out like a candle in the wind. He could remember the day he'd lost it, remembered the long months when it went rolling downhill and how hard it had been to regain the remnants he now possessed. He often felt as though losing something he'd trusted in so fully since childhood had torn his soul into pieces, and now they didn't fit together in quite the same fashion, ripped at the seams.

"Hey," Cameron said, taking his chin carefully in her hand and making him look at her. "You can tell me."

He looked into her eyes, bolstered by what he saw there. It differed from the kind, sympathetic looks she gave to patients. An almost desperate gleam rested in the dark green orbs, a need to know this very personal story contained within him. In that moment, he knew she loved him.

"It started after my father sent me that letter," he began. "And one day…I just lost it…"

_It had been seven months to the day since Robert had received the letter from his father that had practically made him an orphan. It had been nearly eight months since they'd spoken. He sat inside the chapel in solitude, having just finished altar serving at Sunday morning's Mass. The church was utterly silent, much like his father, the other seminarians having gone out to enjoy lovely spring day, the first after two weeks of near constant rain and dreary grey skies. He was due to meet Ben and some other friends in an hour or so, but he knew that after he left this room, he might have a decision to tell them that they would certainly be unhappy about._

_He gazed at the floor, smiling at how the sun shining through the stained glass made colors dance upon the marble. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the envelope he'd placed there yesterday, containing a short letter from Melinda, and his father's monthly $300 dollar check. His diocese in Australia covered all the costs of school, which included his room, books, the dining hall, and the vestments he'd needed, as well as giving him a thousand dollar stipend every year, as he wasn't allowed to work whilst in seminary, so the money his father sent was just for small necessities and extras. He used Rowan's money as rarely as he could; he mostly used it for everyday basics and eating out with his friends in the city or buying tube passes to explore, and aside from buying a few books and DVD's, he hadn't bought anything large. Once he was earning a salary in a few years, he knew he wouldn't ever want his father's money again, and hated using it now. But as it had always been with Rowan, money was ever important, and apparently if he sent money but refused all contact with his son, he was still a good father in his own mind. Isabelle had left him a good deal of money in her will, the remnants of what her wealthy parents bequeathed to her, but he'd kept it in an account, unable to make himself touch it just yet._

_ Robert unfolded the letter, which was worn with creases from its long journey from Australia. _

_ Robert,_

_ How are you doing, dear? I do hope you're enjoying your studies and the wonderful city of London. I've heard spring is lovely there, with all the flowers blooming and such, so I imagine it's quite a relief from the winter and the rain! Things are hectic here, as usual. Dr. Hart, the Dean of Medicine, is actually thinking of starting a Diagnostics Department here, and has asked me to head it up, so I may be leaving the ER within a matter of months! In any case I do hope you're happy, and please make sure to stop in and see me over your summer break. And keep faith that things will heal themselves._

_Love,_

_Melinda._

_ He sighed, resting his face in his palms. No word from his father, nothing, although he appreciated Melinda writing him, appreciated the affection. He knew there would have been many times in the past when he gladly wished his father would butt out of his life, but this complete lack of any contact, not even a call to see if he was alright, was especially difficult considering Rowan was the only parent he had left, albeit a lousy one. He looked over at one of the side altar statues, his eyes meeting the face of a golden Jesus, His face graced with a benign smile that seemed to say, "talk to me."_

_ Robert closed his eyes for a moment, the usual peace brought to him by prayer nowhere in sight. This had been happening more and more often as of late, and it baffled him. And angered him._

_ "What do you expect me to do?" he said to the silence. "How can I have faith in you when things just keep going to hell? How can I have faith in you when my own father practically disowned me? Why can't you just let me hate him!" _

_ Robert found himself on his feet, pacing back and forth, goose bumps racing across his skin, stomach sinking._

_ "Why couldn't you fix her?" he questioned. "Why couldn't you save their marriage? Why did she have to die?" His breaths were coming in shuddering gasps now. "Why did I have to spend the latter part of my childhood listening to them scream, having to clean up vomit and broken glass, my father almost forgetting I existed and my mother turning into someone I barely recognized? I just wanted my family to be together. Is that too much to ask? If you would just show me a reason, then maybe…"_

_ His heart beat harder, hands shaking. He knew if anyone walked in on him, they might think him insane, but he couldn't be bothered to give a damn._

_ "Is it too much to ask for a father who loves me when my mother is already dead? A father who might be proud of me? Why do you keep throwing me curveballs that knock the breath out of me? It isn't fair! Why did you do this to me?"_

_ His shout echoed throughout the chapel. He ripped off his collar, throwing it to the ground as he sank to the floor, suddenly realizing his face was wet with tears he hadn't realized he was shedding._

_ "I've kept faith through all of this…" he said, his voice containing just the slightest tremble. "And I don't know if I should blame you or if I should blame myself, but I…I can't do this. I've always been taught that you would never abandon me…but you did, and I can't teach people to have faith when mine has crumbled."_

_ Robert took in a sharp breath, feeling emptier than he had ever remembered. He rubbed his eyes, hoping no one would notice he'd been crying. If anyone would understand it would be the people here, but for reasons he couldn't even explain to himself, he couldn't stand to seem weak in front of anyone anymore. He felt wholly broken, feeling unable to cling to something that had always been a safe haven even in the darkest times of his life. Bitterness consumed him, and anger at the God who had seemed to forsake him had eaten away at a faith that had once been so strong. He stood, cursing Rowan for writing that letter, for practically guaranteeing he would leave here. It was the ultimate act of manipulation, and Robert was certain he knew that. What child can ultimately accept the loss of a parent who was still living, knowing that said parent was walking around somewhere, purposefully condemning his own flesh and blood, especially when it's the only parent the child has left? _

_ He cast one last glance at the chapel, remembering the joyous memories that had taken place here, yet he felt rather numb. _

_ "I'm sorry," he whispered, his hand on the doorknob, not touching the holy water font to cross himself as he would normally do. "To you. And for me."_

_ With that, he closed the door, knowing he should go and speak with Father John, who after their recent conversations might not be entirely surprised, though he had made it clear, in a kind manner, that he felt it was the wrong decision. First however, he returned to his room, picking up the phone before he could stop himself. He dialed the hospital, knowing his father would be there despite the fact that it was a Sunday morning. It rang twice before he heard Rowan's voice on the other end._

_ "Dr. Chase," Rowan said, sounding a bit confused, probably by the obviously foreign number on the caller I.D._

_ Robert felt his throat constrict, and he couldn't speak for a few seconds._

_ "Hello?" Rowan asked again, a tinge of irritation in his tone now._

_ "It's Robert," he finally managed to say. _

_ "Robert," Rowan answered, his voice unable to contain his surprise. "Why are you calling?" _

_ "I'm…" Robert said, hating that his father was getting his way, hating himself for not being able to just give up on Rowan, but knowing there was no turning back from this decision._

_ "Yes?" Rowan asked sharply._

_ "I'm leaving the seminary," Robert finished. "I'm coming back to Australia."_

Chase ran one hand to the back of his neck, trying to ease some of the tension that rested there.

"I left London a week later," he said. "And started med school in the fall. I'd take the MCATS before I graduated university, just to get him off my back, even though I knew I was going to seminary. So I didn't have to wait around another semester to start school."

"And your Dad?" Cameron asked, pushing Chase's hand aside to massage his neck herself. "What did he do?"

"He was pleased with my decision, needless to say," Chase answered. "Things were a little better for a while, but it was hard to forget what he'd done. I kept trying, though. I'm still not really sure why."

"He was your Dad," Cameron responded, moving down to his shoulders, trying to break up a knot that had formed there. He sometimes got them after doing surgery, he guessed from focusing so hard and sometimes standing for hours. "It's a natural reaction."

Chase hesitated for a moment, remembering the story Christine had told him earlier, remembering Cameron's vague mention of getting into an argument with her father over her first marriage.

"Kind of like how you worked things out with your Dad when he didn't want you to marry Michael?" Chase asked.

Cameron's hands stopped for a moment, and she was sitting so close he could feel her body tense. She continued after a moment, although she waited a solid minute too respond.

"I suppose so, yeah. Why are you mentioning it?" she asked, and he was relieved to hear curiosity rather than defensiveness in her tone.

"Christine filled in the blanks about what happened with your Dad," Chase said. "This morning while we were sledding. I didn't ask, it just came up when she brought up how pleased he was that you'd brought me home."

Cameron smiled. "He was just worried about me. But we worked things out; he still wasn't sure about it, but he put that aside for me. We did have a fight though," she said, shaking her head. "A pretty nasty one. And I hated it. But I was mad."

"You're pretty formidable when you're angry," he teased. "But I'm glad you and your Dad are okay. He seems like a really nice guy."

"He is," she responded, taking Chase's hand and pulling him up from the bench. "We don't always have the same worldview, but he's a good father."

Chase nodded, loving the feel of the snow under his boots. Most people in the States got tired of the snow, but he'd hardly seen snow in Australia, so it was still a bit of a novelty to him.

"Mom's making steak for dinner," Cameron said, chuckling. "I know that'll cheer you up. And I spied another bottle of that wine we had the other night and stowed it under the bed. Although we'll have to be careful how much we drink…Christine and Mom have conned me, which also means you, to go shopping in the city tomorrow."

Chase laughed, leaning over to kiss the side of her head. "My little thief."

"And proud of it," she responded, winking at him.

Chase squeezed her hand, musing that all their years of breaking and entering for House had rubbed off in a rather entertaining way.

A few hours later, Chase was sprawled across Cameron's bed, dressed in only his navy pajama pants, eyes closed.

"I'm so full I might die," he called to Cameron, who was finishing up her nightly skincare regimen. "I'm serious. Help me, Dr. Cameron!"

Cameron looked at him through the mirror as she spread moisturizer across her cheeks and rolling her eyes. "You're such a baby, Dr. Chase," she responded, a slight coyness in her tone. "You'll be fine in a few minutes."

"I shouldn't have eaten that second piece of cheesecake," he said, popping one eye open to look at her. "But it was so incredible."

Cameron flipped off the light and came to join Chase on the bed, sitting diagonally on the mattress and resting her legs across Chase's. "Famous last words when it comes to my mother's cheesecake. Drink some wine, it might help."

Chase complied, sipping at the beverage for a few moments, looking up to find Cameron looking at him with a very familiar piercing stare.

"So, what caused you to lose contact with your father when you came to take House's job in the states?" she asked.

"Well, we're just jumping right back in, then?" he questioned.

"You said you wanted to tell the whole story," she said, suddenly looking apologetic. "I'm…"

He put up a hand to stop her. "No, I do. Your curiosity surprises me, is all. Through this whole weekend."

"Robert, we're in a relationship. It makes sense that I'd want you to flesh out your past for me. You've only ever given me small bits, until now. You've always been curious about me, haven't you?" she asked.

"You know I am," he said. "I love learning everything about you. I was just wondering if something prompted you to ask me about my parents."

Cameron looped one leg under both of Chase's, the other still resting atop. "My mom," she answered. "She was confirming that both of your parents were deceased, and then ascertained that you didn't talk about them much. She encouraged me to ask you about it."

"She's awfully perceptive, your Mum," Chase responded. "In answer to your question, well, I suppose I should start when I was in med school, for the rest of this story to come together. Needless to say, my Dad had to ever question what I was choosing as my specialty…"

_Freshly turned 23-year-old Robert kicked off his shoes as he sat down on the couch next to Katherine, his girlfriend of four months, whom he'd met in Anatomy class last year. They'd developed a fast friendship then started dating at the beginning of this semester. He was almost halfway through his second year of med school at the University of Melbourne, and this was the first free weekend he'd had in a month. A pile of medical textbooks sat on the coffee table; Grey's Anatomy, another on cancers by Ezra Powell, and a third on autoimmune diseases by his own father. That was the problem of going to med school when your father was a world-renowned doctor, especially when that doctor lived in Australia; his name and work were common knowledge. _

"_That was an interesting conversation we had in class yesterday," Katherine said, interrupting his reverie. "About what people wanted to do their residencies and specialties in." She smirked at him, knowing she had obviously cut into his thoughts, her brown eyes gleaming with curiosity. _

_ "Yeah," he said, shaking his head to clear his mind and turning to look at her with a cheeky grin. "What are thinking about?"_

_ "Probably pediatrics," she answered, pulling her long dirty-blonde hair into a ponytail. "You?"_

_ "Intensive Care," he said. "Or surgery. Maybe both. I talked to Dr. Rivers about doing some observations with him next semester, since Intensive Care is his specialty. Just wanted to get a jump on things."_

_ She raised her eyebrows. "Doesn't your Dad want you to go into Rheumatology?" _

_ "You can't always get what you want," he quipped. "I'm in med school. It should be enough for him."_

_ "It should be," she said, voice softening as she looped her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. "But don't pay him any attention. You're brilliant. Maybe not as brilliant as me…"_

_ He huffed unbelievingly. "I'm smart. I wouldn't say brilliant. You're more brilliant than I am, no questions."_

_ "There's a reason you're in the top of the class," she argued. "And you'll probably graduate early."_

_ "The great Rowan Chase thinks I'm an idiot," he responded, intertwining his fingers with hers. _

_ "Not from what I can tell," she argued. "Just made it clear that he hasn't agreed with all your life choices. He's got an ego, but he knows how intelligent you are. He was so…formal when you brought me over for dinner a couple of months ago. Cold, but almost like he didn't realize he was. Like that's how he thinks people are supposed to be."_

_ "I didn't want to subject you to him," Robert said. "But he insisted. I especially felt bad after I met your Mom and she tried to practically adopt me. I've never eaten so much in my life."_

_ "She's Greek," chuckled Katherine. "It's what she does. And forget about your Dad for now," she said, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him. "We agreed to have a stress free weekend. It'll be the last one for a while. We're going out surfing all day tomorrow, think about that." _

_She leaned in and started kissing him, her lips warm and incredibly inviting. They'd each been the first person the other had slept with, and it had only served to make them fall harder for each other. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his around her waist, kissing her deeper. He shifted and picked her up, intending to head toward the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around him, unbuttoning his shirt in the process. _

_ They entered the small bedroom, kissing fervently. The wall was covered in rugby posters, the crucifix from his old seminary dorm room laying on the bedside table next to the binder for his genetics class. He laid her gently on the bed, his shirt falling to the floor. It was then that a firm knock sounded at the door, which he tried to ignore. The door was locked and if it was important they would come back. He joined her on the bed, leaning down to kiss her again, but the knock came again louder and accompanied by a voice._

_ "Robert?" came Rowan Chase's deep baritone. "Are you home?"_

_ He sighed in irritation. What timing his father had discovered! Of all the times Robert had hoped for a mere phone call, he had to show up now, out of the blue…_

_ "You'd better go see him," Katherine said, running a hand over her black Beatles t-shirt to smooth out the rumples as she pulled it back on. "I'll be there in a minute."_

_ "Kate…" he protested._

_ "He doesn't normally come by your apartment," she said, pushing him gently in the chest with her palm. "Go."_

_ He stood there for a minute, buttoning his shirt and tapping his foot on the carpet, his mouth a thin line across his face._

_ "Robert?" called Rowan again._

_ "Coming!" he called, looking in the dresser mirror to make sure his face was lip gloss free. _

_ "Go," said Katherine again, dabbing on a bit of clear lip gloss she had in her pocket. "I'll come out of the bathroom in a minute to avert suspicion that we were fooling around." She grinned cheekily at him, smacking his arm with her long ponytail on her way out the door._

_ Robert followed her, walking through the doorway and into the living room, taking long strides to wrench open the apartment door. His father stood there, dressed in a black suit, the maroon tie popping out against the crisp white collar of his shirt. _

_ "Hi," Robert said, hating the fact that his voice went up an octave whenever he was nervous. "Come in."_

_ "How are you?" Rowan asked, much as though he was talking to a colleague he barely knew rather than his own son. "I haven't seen you in a while."_

_ "I'm fine," Robert asked, closing the door behind him and gesturing his father toward the couch. "You?"_

_ "Tired," Rowan answered, sitting down and placing his black briefcase on the coffee table next to the medical textbooks, eyeing them with interest. "Just got back from speaking at a conference in New York. I met that Dr. House that's got the medical community all abuzz."_

_ "The famous diagnostics guy?" Chase asked, eyes widening a bit in both surprise and immense interest. "He's supposed to be some kind of genius. I read about him, his work is extraordinary…"_

_ "A genius medical mind he may be, but he's insane. Absolutely no regard for ethical standards apparently. Rude, too," Rowan looked up as Katherine entered the room, looking unnerved by his presence. "Ah, hello Katherine. How are you?"_

_ "I'm well, thank you Dr. Chase," she said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Robert. "You?"_

_ "Just fine," he said, giving her the signature smile he always saved for hospital benefits and conference speeches. "Actually I was just about to discuss something of a…sensitive nature with Robert. Would you mind giving us a few minutes?"_

_ She hesitated, but only for a moment, the famous Rheumatologist's penetrating stare having its desired effect. He stood up and walked into the adjoining kitchenette toward the coffee pot._

_ "Sure," she said. "I've got an errand to run in any case." She seized her glasses and her purse from the coffee table. _

_ "I'll be back in a little while," she whispered almost imperceptibly into Robert's ear under the pretense of kissing his cheek. "Don't let him push you around."_

_With that she was gone, and the young man rounded on his father. "Really, Dad? You couldn't talk about whatever it is in front of Kate?"_

_ "Are you sure this apartment is adequate?" Rowan answered, spooning the coffee into the filter. "It's terribly small. And yes. We needed to be alone for this."_

_ Robert placed his hands on the cool counter, pressing down hard with building anger. "The apartment is fine. As long as I've got my big TV to watch the football matches, I'm great," he said. He breathed in, not wanting this to end badly when they'd just started to gain a little bit of ground. "What did you want to talk about?"_

_ The coffee pot burbled in the background, driving sound into the silence that momentarily fell as Rowan surveyed his son._

_ "I spoke to Dr. Rivers today," he said. "Wanted to see how you were doing in his class."_

_ Attempting to ignore the fact that Rowan had been once again been checking up on him without simply bothering to call or drop by, Robert answered._

_ "I'm doing well, I think," he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. Rowan was about to pounce, and there was no denying it. "Trying to, anyway. Kate and I studied for his last exam for a week."_

_ "You're doing splendidly," Rowan responded, a frown forming on his lips. "But he also told me you asked to do intensive care observations with him next semester. Looking into that as your specialty, I take it?"_

_ "Yes," Robert answered. He wasn't backing down on this. "And maybe surgery too."_

_ Rowan put a hand to his forehead, jerking the coffee pot out with the other, suddenly angry. "And you've been fooling around with that girl too, haven't you? You'll get her pregnant and your life gets completely derailed again!" _

_ Robert closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands. "Dad, please. Can we not fight? I just don't have the energy. I haven't gotten more than four hours of sleep a night in two weeks. And I just don't want to argue with you today. We've been doing better."_

_ The older man poured himself a cup of coffee in silence, grabbing a second mug from the cabinet and offering it to his son. _

_ "Why would you want to be an Intensivist?" Rowan asked, stirring a single packet of sugar into his coffee, his tone milder now. "I'm curious."_

_ "I like the idea of working closely with critically ill patients, getting to do hands on procedures," Robert answered, relieved that his father appeared to have given up the ghost on fighting for the moment. "It's a chance to really make a difference in a life or death situation, to save lives that might otherwise slip through the cracks."_

_ Rowan eyed him over the rim of the coffee mug, looking unimpressed. "Do you know how may ICU patients die every day?" he asked. "How many people die in surgery? You won't be able to save all of them. It takes a serious toll on all the doctors I've known who specialized in it."_

_ "I know that. But we went on some rounds the other day, and we went into the ICU and some of the OR's and it just struck me," Robert replied, not liking how Rowan's eyes were narrowing, as though he was readying himself for a confrontation. He looked haughtier than usual, and that could never bode well. "I'm not entirely sure why just yet."_

_ "You could do Oncology, Neurology, Rheumatology," Rowan said, moving around the counter toward his son. "You want to work with the critically ill and dying because you have a hero complex. You always have, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You wanted to save your mother when you knew it was hopeless."_

_ He laid a tight hand on his son's shoulder, but Robert slid out of his grasp. It took every ounce of his good sense not to shove his father into the nearest wall. He mentally reminded himself of the sacrifices he had made in an attempt to salvage this relationship, and tried to calm himself._

_ "Please don't talk about her like that," he said, putting a good distance between his father and himself by sitting in the recliner across the room. "You act like you never loved her at all. And even though you stopped, she was still my mother and deserves respect."_

_ Rowan didn't answer for a moment, sensing his son's tactics and moved toward him, standing a mere foot away from where Robert sat, his towering shadow casting across the young man's feet. _

_ "I did love her, but I also know when to give up," he finally said. "I know you miss her, but making a career out of trying to save the dying won't bring her back." He maintained a very matter-of-fact tone, as though he thought he was the only one in the world who had any sense._

_ Robert stood up, refusing to let his father intimidate him, his blood starting to boil. "I'm well aware of that. So by your rationale, Intensivists are just a waste of an M.D.?"_

_ "No," Rowan said, frustration seeping into his voice. "They're quite valuable, actually, because they save patients that might not otherwise walk out alive. But you're choosing that specialty for the wrong reason. You always, always let your emotions control everything, that's why you wasted your time at the damn seminary in the first place. You've got to learn some objectivity…"_

_ At those words, Robert slammed his hand on the coffee table, ignoring the stinging pain it sent flooding through his palm. _

_ "Is there nothing, NOTHING, I can do to please you?" he shouted, unable to control his temper anymore. _

_ "Robert…" Rowan attempted to cut in._

_ "I was Valedictorian of my high school class," Robert continued. "I graduated University in three years and was Summa Cum Laude. I gave up my decision to become a priest just so we could have a fighting chance at a relationship, then not only did I choose something you would deem reasonable, I chose to go to MED SCHOOL!" He glared at his father, who still stood there with that infuriatingly calm expression on his face. "I don't think you've been proud of anything I've done since I was ten years old!"_

_ "Don't be ridiculous, Robert," Rowan answered, sounding much like he was talking to a hysterical patient. "I am proud of you…"_

_ "I lost my fucking faith in God because of you, and you can't even bother to give a damn!" he yelled, moving closer and closer to his father now, completely shrugging off any remaining semblance of the apathy he had so lately tried at adopting. _

_ Before Robert quite knew what was happening, Rowan had seized him by the front of his shirt and spun him around, pushing him into a sitting position on the couch. His football training had given him physical strength, but Rowan was much bigger built and had the advantage. He let go, but leaned in close to Robert's face._

_ "You will not speak to me like that, no matter how old you are," he said, still refraining from shouting as though it was beneath him. "I am proud of you. I don't know what else I can do to convince you…"_

_ "Words mean nothing," Robert said, lowering his voice. "Actions mean everything. And your actions, you practically disowning me because you couldn't control my every move, does not show that you're proud of me. You hardly even bothering to make time to see me doesn't prove you're proud of me. I come by your office and you give me ten minutes before running off to your next obligation. Having dinner with you once a month doesn't really scream that you want to spend time with me." _

_He met his father's gaze, and was shocked to see what looked like a glimpse of a tear falling slowly down his face. "I get that you want the best for me," he continued, averting his eyes again. He wasn't sure the last time he'd seen his father cry, and he wasn't sure how to react. "But I'm an adult, and wanting the best for me also means you have to let me make my own decisions."_

_ Rowan sighed and sat down next to him on the couch. Silence fell between them, both weary of fighting. _

_ "You threaten me with taking your praise away…with taking your love away," Robert whispered. "And when I only have one parent left that just isn't fair. Maybe we're just too different to get along. You always say you didn't leave me when you left Mum, but the fact is, you did, and you keep trying to do it again. I'm more like Mum than you want to admit, and it drives you mad."_

_ "I didn't leave you," Rowan protested. "You're my son."_

_ "People leave the people they love every day," Robert said. "And I'm not sure it's something you can take back."_

Throughout Chase's story, Cameron had made her way over to him, and now her head was resting against his bare chest, arm around his waist. She wanted, needed to be close to him, hoping it let him know she was there for him. She'd always been good at physical expressions of love and affection, it was words she had a harder time with, especially when her heart was personally invested.

"There's more," he said quietly, "But I think it's best saved for tomorrow night. I'm…tired." For some reason this particular memory had deeply saddened him, but he wasn't quite ready to express it. He turned on his side to face her, brushing a stray golden hair out of her eyes. "Thank you," he said.

She gave him a quizzical look. "For what?"

"For caring enough to want to know these things…for loving me enough," he responded. "For being the kind of person I can trust to understand about my past, and why it still gets to me sometimes."

Her eyes bored into his for a moment, then slipped her arms around his neck, kissing him in an almost desperate manner, because sometimes, words just weren't enough.

AN: Well, I hope you guys liked this chapter! I'm looking to have 3 more chapters, so be on the lookout for the update and let me know what you think! Chase and Cameron, forever and for always!


	10. Interesting Encounters

Getting to Know You

Chapter 10: Interesting Encounters

Chase stood by the Macy's jewelry counter next to Mrs. Cameron while Allison and Christine browsed the women's clothing racks, having found himself the bearer of several bags.

"Allie doesn't go shopping that often," Mrs. Cameron remarked, "but when she does go…"

"She goes all in," Chase finished for her, shifting one of the bags in his hand. "I've seen it before." He smiled at his girlfriend's mother, who was watching her daughters with amusement as they debated over a shirt, which Cameron was claiming was hideous, but Christine liked.

"Those two girls used to battle it out when they were younger, but they got so close," Mrs. Cameron said, chuckling a bit as she turned to look at Chase. "I'm guessing you're relieved to have been out of the hospital for a few days? You look much more rejuvenated than you did when you got in on Wednesday. Less dark circles."

"Immensely," Chase answered. "Setting aside a few of our vacation days was worth it. It feels like we live there sometimes, although our hours are better than the ones we had in Diagnostics…we really did live in the hospital sometimes. Ate there, took naps in the on call room." Chase found himself caught in a rush of memories for a few moments, remembering how his days in Diagnostics made him feel as though he had a home in the new country he'd moved to, but also knowing that things had taken their natural course in all that had happened in the past months. He missed the excitement sometimes, but he was exceedingly happy now, being an attending in surgery.

"I've found that I've heard from Allie on a more regular schedule since she started the ER," Mrs. Cameron said. "It's a nice change."

"Thank you again for having me," Chase responded. "It's been a lot of fun, getting a chance to know all of you."

"We'll be said to see you go tomorrow," she answered, looking up at him over the rim of her coffee cup, a maternal gleam in her eyes. "But we talked to Allie about coming back for Christmas, so we may be seeing you soon!"

"Sounds wonderful," Chase said, suddenly feeling elated at the prospect, but also strangely feeling like a rock had landed on his chest. He'd had several happy Christmases in his adult life, spent with friends or extended family, but the last proper Christmas he'd had with his parents had been when he was 10 or 11…the ones after had been overshadowed by fighting and alcohol, and then after Rowan walked out his mother's half-hearted attempts to make the holiday magical fell flat because of the gaping hole his father had left.

Mrs. Cameron was about to respond when she suddenly gasped in delight, her green eyes that were so like Cameron's widening in surprise.

"Joe!" she exclaimed, as the tall brown-haired man reached them, a grin spread across his face.

"Hi Ms. Elizabeth," he said, hugging her in greeting. "It's a surprise to run into you here. Is that Allie and Christine over there?"

Joe had been Cameron's husband's best friend, Chase knew, who still lived here in Chicago, and who Cameron occasionally e-mailed back and forth with, but that was all he really knew. He was shaken out of his thoughts by Mrs. Cameron resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Joe, this is Dr. Robert Chase, Allie's boyfriend and colleague," she said. "They came for Thanksgiving and stayed a couple of extra days."

"Nice to meet you," Chase replied, shaking Joe's hand firmly.

"You too. Allie's mentioned you in her e-mails," Joe said, a curious look in his eyes. "Do I spy an Australian accent?"

"You'd be right about that," Chase said, looking over as Cameron and Christine came over, the former looking a little flummoxed. "I moved to the States about five years ago."

"Joe!" Cameron exclaimed, reaching out to embrace him. "What brings you here?"

"Picking up an anniversary present for Karen. 5 years tomorrow," he replied, lifting up the small bag which looked to contain a jewelry box. "I hardly recognized you with your new blonde hair."

"I felt like a change," Cameron answered as Christine moved in to hug Joe as well. "Did you Mom introduce you to Chase?" she asked, scooting over to stand closer to her boyfriend.

"She did," Joe answered, nodding at Chase with a smile, before looking at Cameron with a confused expression. "Did you just call him by his last name?"

"We all called each other by our last names when we were in Diagnostics," she replied. "Just old habit. How's Karen?"

"She's great," Joe said. "Just got a new job at a bigger law firm, the one she's had her eye on."

"Being a lawyer is so popular these days," Christine said, chuckling. "You, Karen, me."

Chase listened intently to the conversation, suddenly feeling Cameron's hand grasp his own ever so slowly, squeezing so tight that he started to lose feeling. He glanced over at her, but she wouldn't meet his eye.

"Indeed it is," said Joe. "Are you liking the job so far?"

Christine started to respond, but was interrupted by Cameron.

"I keep telling her she should move to Jersey and take one of the vacant hospital lawyer positions at Princeton," she said, jabbing her sister gently in the side. "But I can't convince her."

"I like it here," Christine said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at her sister.

"Some things never change," Joe responded with a laugh. "Well, I better scoot, but it was great to run into all of you."

He hugged each of the women in turn, reaching Cameron last. "Good luck with the ER, Allie. I'll shoot you an e-mail."

With that, he turned to shake Chase's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said, looking pleased that he had been able to put a face the name he'd heard about in e-mails. "Take care of this one." He nodded over at Cameron, a small smile slipping onto her face.

"I will," Chase said, still reeling a bit that they'd run into this rather mysterious person from Cameron's past. "No worries."

Joe waved in farewell, then was out the door.

"Well that was a nice surprise," Mrs. Cameron said, taking the shirt Christine had been mulling over and examining the fabric. "You'll never know who you might run into in this place."

"Yeah," Cameron replied, looking a little lost, eyes not focused on her mother. "I'm going to run to the food court and grab a soda. I'll meet you back here in few minutes."

Chase, who was concerned about Cameron's slightly odd behavior, accompanied her as they walked through the hustle and bustle of the Saturday mall crowd. Not as terrible as black Friday had surely been, but crowded nonetheless.

"Are you okay babe?" he asked, seeing signs that he should perhaps wait a bit before asking, but giving in anyway.

"Yes," she said, eyes flitting in his direction for only a moment. "Why?"

Knowing she wouldn't give in easily, Chase drew from the patience Cameron exhibited when he was stubborn about divulging things. It was a flaw they shared in common, stubbornness, especially when it came to admitting something was bothering them, most likely coming from a fear of seeming weak, even to the people they loved. Cameron may have worn her heart on her sleeve about many things, but rarely about her own personal problems.

"You just looked a little shell-shocked to see Joe," Chase answered. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, her tone clipped. "There's no need for you to worry."

"If you say so…"

"I do," she said, fully avoiding his gaze now. "Can we just drop it for now?"

"Yes," he said, unable to help from feeling a tad downtrodden. "We can drop it."

An hour and a half or so later, Chase sat on the back deck in one of the rocking chairs, eyes closed and only half awake. The rest of the house had chosen an afternoon nap before the extravagant family dinner that was planned for later in the evening, but he liked sitting outside here in Cameron's neighborhood, even if there was a distinct chill in the air. After a few minutes however, he heard someone open the door and sit in the rocking chair next to his. He popped one eye open to see Cameron beside him.

"I'm sorry," she spurted out.

"For what?" I asked, opening both eyes now to focus on her. "The thing at the mall?"

"For being short with you," she said. "I shouldn't have been."

"It's okay," Chase responded, warmth in his tone, loving the tinkling sound of the wind chimes as the wind blew through them. His mother, he remembered, had loved them too, but his father had hated them. No surprises there. "But why did you look so stunned?"

Cameron shifted in her seat, bringing her knees up to her chest as though trying to protect herself from something.

"It was complicated with Joe for a while," she began, resting her chin on her knees now, and looking at him. "When Michael was in the hospital Joe and I spent a lot of time together. I don't know if we fell in love, exactly, but there was something there."

Chase thought that maybe he should have been surprised, but he wasn't entirely. He'd heard a couple of stories like this from loved ones of terminal patients, and the inner turmoil it has caused within them.

"Did anything happen, if you don't mind my asking?" he questioned, hoping to gently coax the story out of her without making her feel entirely vulnerable.

"No," she said, reaching over to take Chase's hand almost out of instinct, holding it loosely. "It wasn't something that was meant to be, it was just something borne out of tragedy, and it's always been a little awkward between us since then. Like we didn't know what to do with each other. This time was much better though, I was just surprised. I haven't actually seen Joe in person since I moved to Princeton. We've just emailed." She looked up at him, a small half smile sliding onto her face.

He smiled in return. "Thanks for telling me."

"No problem," she replied, holding his hand tighter. "So, you want to tell me the next installment of the Robert Chase chronicles?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, trying to sound confident as his mouth went a little drier from nerves. "Where did I leave off?"

"When you were leaving seminary," she said. "Are you okay? If you don't want…"

"I do," he cut in. "I started, so I need to finish. Let's fast forward a few years, shall we?"

_The high-pitched beeping of Robert's pager sounded as he hooked his sleeping patient's chart onto the end of the bed. He slid out of the ICU room and closed the door quietly behind him so as not to disturb the little girl, who had just undergone emergency surgery after a car crash. She looked like she would make it, but it was still a bit touch and go, so he would stay in the hospital for the night to watch over her in case there was an emergency. He pulled the pager off of his belt, chuckling a little as he read the message from Roger, his friend from med school who had ended up working in the same hospital. _

_ "911! Rowan Alert!"_

_He wondered briefly what his father was doing here, but didn't waste his energy pondering. It had probably been a good four months since he'd seen Rowan, although they'd spoken briefly on the phone a couple of times. He walked confidently through the halls of St. Joseph's hospital. He'd done his residency here, preferring to get away from his father's influence at Melbourne General. They were tentatively amiable with each other lately, and working in the same environment wouldn't have encouraged that. He'd been working here for a year while he completed some more specialty training in intensive care, and had grown to feel at home. Much as he loved his home country however, he was still itching to get away. At 28, he was one of the youngest doctors in the hospital, and he was tired of being constantly referred to as "Rowan's boy." _

_Once he reached the lobby, he predictably found his father surrounded by a small knot of people, Robert's boss Dr. Cohen among them. The middle-aged Intensivist spotted his young employee walking toward them, smiling broadly. _

"_Ah, here he is Rowan," said Dr. Cohen, reaching to put a loose arm around Robert's shoulders as he reached the group. Robert actually had a great deal of respect for his boss, truly liked him and had learned an immense amount, but hated the fact that he worshipped Rowan like this. Although, everyone seemed to in the medical community. "He's a credit to you, I must say. He's a natural."_

"_I'm glad to hear it," Rowan said, nodding at his son._

_After a few more minutes of conversation, the small group of people dispersed, leaving father and son alone._

_ "You're quite the celebrity," Robert joked, sticking his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "What brings you by?"_

_ "Thought I'd come see you before you left for New Jersey," Rowan said, gesturing Robert toward the front doors, presumably so they could walk and have their conversation away from the bustle of the lobby. "When do you leave?"_

_ "My interview with House is on Monday, so I'm leaving on Friday, just to give myself some time to recover from the flight," Robert answered, sitting down on one of the benches in the small courtyard at the front of the hospital. The sun was just peeping out from behind the trees, the sky a hazy mix of blues with streaks of pink shooting through. "Apparently the last four people he interviewed left his office within ten minutes, so I'm not entirely sure what to expect."_

_ "Hmmm," said Rowan, frowning. "Well, don't get your hopes up. It sounds as though the man likes to toy with people." He looked at his watch. "Do you have time for a drink?"_

_ Taken aback, it took Robert a moment to respond. "Well, I've got a patient I'm a bit worried about, so I was going to stay here and monitor, but we could grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria."_

_ "Alright," agreed Rowan. "Lead the way, I haven't been here in quite some time."_

_ Ten minutes later, father and son were sitting in a booth in the hospital cafeteria, each with large cups of coffee in front of them. Robert couldn't remember the last time they'd sat together like this, just the two of them. Any dinners they'd had over the past few years involved Melinda, or guests Rowan had invited._

_ "This hospital makes better coffee than any other one I've ever been in," Robert remarked, trying to break the awkward silence that had fallen. "How's Melinda? I haven't spoken to her in a few weeks."_

_ "She's doing well," Rowan answered, taking a sip of his coffee, which he took black with a few lumps of sugar. "She's settling into the Diagnostics department, and she's enjoying it. She's getting much different cases than she got in the ER."_

_ "Diagnostics is intriguing," Robert said, still wondering why exactly his father had wanted to sit down with him. He felt a bit of warmth spread through him, but steeled himself for some kind of bad news, some kind of ultimatum. "I read that Princeton-Plainsboro has the best diagnostic department in the States because of Dr. House."_

_ "I've heard that," Rowan replied, almost instantly changing the subject. "Are you alright with finances?"_

_ Robert resisted the urge to roll his eyes, not wanting to ruin this seemingly pleasant moment between the two of them. "I'm fine, Dad. My salary more than covers me, and Mum's money is safely put away in a savings account."_

_ "But the fellowship salary?" Rowan asked. "Will that be enough?"_

_ "It'll be fine," Robert answered, not surprised his father was so persistent about money. It was his safety zone. It suddenly struck him that tomorrow was his mother's birthday, and he wondered if that had anything to do with why Rowan was here._

_ What Rowan said next confirmed his hunch._

_ "I left some flowers at your mother's grave yesterday," he said, not quite meeting his son's eyes. "I thought you'd like to know."_

_ "Lilies?" Robert questioned, his voice almost a whisper, a swoop of sadness sweeping through his stomach at all that had been lost._

_ "Yes," said Rowan, clearing his throat. "She would be proud of all you've accomplished, you know."_

_ "I know," Robert answered, feeling a pesky tear prick his eye as his father finally looked at him, blinking furiously to hold it back. _

_ The sound of Robert's beeper broke the moment, and he grabbed it off his belt, reading that his patient was awake, and her parents wanted to speak with him. He breathed a sigh of relief that nothing had gone wrong. _

_ "My patient's awake," he began._

_ "Duty calls," Rowan said, standing up as he drained the last of his coffee. "Good luck on your interview. Let me know."_

_ "I will," said Robert, as they stood stock still across from each other, as though debating whether or not a hug was in order. Instead, Robert stuck his hand out, which Rowan shook firmly. _

_ "See you, son," he said, before turning and walking towards the exit. He was always leaving, it seemed._

"Wait," Cameron broke in, the pieces coming together behind her eyes. "Do I get to hear about your interview with House? About the phone call?"

"Yes," Chase said.

"Should I get popcorn?" she asked, grinning at him.

"You're hilarious," he said dryly, jabbing her lightly with his elbow. "Go on like that and I won't tell the story."

"Okay, okay," she said, giving in. "But I can only imagine what House did with that kind of material."

_Robert sat in the chair across from Dr. Gregory House's desk, wiggling his toes in nervousness as he waited for the man to arrive. After a few moments he heard two voices at the glass door, one a harsh female whisper, the other a slightly annoyed male, speaking more loudly than was necessary._

_ "You have to at least be decent to this one, do you hear me?" came the voice of Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine. "He has an excellent resume, Intensivists are hard to come by, and we could use a young doctor like that. You currently have one remaining fellow, and if you don't start hiring more, the board is going to scrap you."_

_ "Yes Mom," House answered. "And the board would never scrap me…my hospital makes this reputation look good. I've got an interview to do, so go away."_

_ Chase heard Cuddy sigh as she walked away, and stood up to shake House's hand as he entered the room, noticing how pronounced his limp was, even with the cane. He was desperately curious to know what had happened, but didn't dare ask._

_ "Sit," House said, as Chase marveled at what the renowned diagnostician was wearing. "I don't do formality."_

_ Chase nodded, still taking in House's clothes; he certainly didn't dress like any other doctor he'd seen. He donned jeans, gym shoes, a t-shirt, and navy blue blazer, no lab coat in sight, reading glasses perched on his nose. Chase felt suddenly very out of place in his dark navy suit and pale yellow shirt, hair swept back from his face, as he hadn't had time to get a haircut._

_ "So you're Dr. Robert Chase," House said, staring at him._

_ "Yes sir."_

_ "The famous Rowan Chase's son?"_

_ "Yes sir," Robert answered, trying to keep the slight annoyance out of his voice at always being associated with his father, rather than being looked at on his own merit. _

_ "You have quite the resume, kid," House said, still not breaking eye contact. _

_ "Thank you sir," Chase answered, feeling more awkward by the moment but trying not to let it show._

_ "Quit it with the sir," House said. "I said I don't do formality. Are you aware your father called me a few days ago?"_

_ Robert felt his stomach sink, his cheeks flushing from embarrassment. "No. I can assure I didn't ask him to call. He always thinks his name can get…"_

_ "He doesn't want me to hire you," House interrupted._

_ "What?" Chase stuttered before he could help himself. "But he knows I want this job!"_

_ House chuckled, which Chase found a rather odd reaction, but went with it. _

_ "He wants you to stay in Australia," House continued, picking up a rather large grey and red ball and throwing it up and down in the air. "Doesn't think you should be going so far away from home. Thinks you're building a fine reputation there, and shouldn't risk anything by moving all the way across the world."_

_ Chase sighed in irritation, but tried to get a hold of the fury building inside him. "I'm sorry he bothered you. He likes to control things."_

_ "I find it interesting," House said. "So, why do you want this job?"_

_ "I want to learn," Chase answered, hoping he sounded confident. "I want to save lives. And you're the best there is at that." House met his gaze again, and Chase stared right back at him._

_ "And you want to get out from under Daddy's thumb," he said. "Interesting that you don't want to make your way off of his reputation. I need an Intensivist around here, someone who can make quick decisions when a patient is coding and not freeze up and come running to me before doing anything."_

_ "I can do that," Chase said, still not breaking the gaze._

_ Silence fell between them for a solid five minutes as House broke his eyes away and flipped through Chase's resume once more, though Chase suspected he was merely building suspense, as the resume looked like it had been read through several times._

_ "You're hired," he said simply. "How long until you can be here?"_

_ "Three weeks," Chase replied, feeling elated, but still terribly angry at what his father had done, and couldn't quite make sense of it. _

_ "Fine. Be here by 8 a.m. three weeks from today or you're fired. Go by Dr. Cuddy's office on your way out, she'll be thrilled."_

_ Much to Chase's surprise, House reached out and shook his hand._

_ "Now get out of my office," he said, an somewhat disconcerting grin on his face._

_ "Thank you Dr. House," Chase said, feeling much like he was walking on air. _

"Wow," Cameron mused, twirling the end of her long blonde ponytail. "I can't believe your Dad tried to sabotage the interview."

Chase shook his head, the next memory flooding through his mind. "It wasn't malicious, he just thought he knew best. As always. And it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I think I hear the sounds of cooking though, so I'll save the rest for later. Okay?"

"Okay," Cameron said, suddenly cupping his face in her hands and attempting to kiss him senseless. He responded by running both hands through her hair, moving his body closer to hers. He forgot for a moment, the pain of the next story he would tell, lost in the inviting warmth of Allison's lips.

The sound of the sliding door opening, however, caused the couple to jump apart like shrapnel. Christine stood there, looking thoroughly amused.

"You two kids," she said, laughing. "I've been waiting to catch you. Come on and help with dinner."

They followed her inside, but not before Cameron had smacked her younger sister upside the head.

AN: I'm SO sorry for the delay in updating! Between grad school and a death in the family, I've been swamped. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and there are just a few more to go! Please review, if you can, and thanks to all who are reading!


	11. Saying Goodbye

Getting To Know You

Chapter 11: Saying Goodbye

Chase plopped down on the couch next to Peter, whose eyes were trained upon a football game on television.

"Is your team winning?" Chase asked, taking a sip of the beer Mr. Cameron had offered him.

"Barely, the bunch of idiots," Peter answered. "So you two head back tomorrow? Bet you're looking forward to that," he teased. "Lots of digging around in people's insides so early in the morning." He furrowed his eyebrows at the thought.

"I'm definitely not looking forward to the 6 a.m. wake up call on Monday morning," Chase replied. "I'm a morning person generally, but these last few days of sleeping in have shown me how wrong I've been."

Peter chuckled. "When I was a teenager, I could sleep until 2 in the afternoon…now I can't sleep past 8, most of the time." He glanced over as Chase when the game went to a commercial break, looking contemplative. "It's been nice having you here though, to get to match a name to a face. I'm really glad Allie brought you."

"Honestly I was bit nervous at first," Chase said. "Allison talks about all of you a lot. Especially you."

Peter grinned, looking thoroughly amused. "The whole big brother thing. I've tried it, but I'm not very intimidating. But you helped us win the soccer match, so you're good in my book," he said, clapping Chase on the shoulder.

Chase was about to reply when Cameron came over from discussing something with her parents, who were tidying up the kitchen.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal him away Peter," she said, a pronounced yawn slowing her words. "We've got to get packing."

Peter raised his eyebrows, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he seized a last chance to tease his younger sister.

"Packing. Right. Is that a euphemism for…"

"Don't even finish that!" she exclaimed, knocking the side of his knee with her foot. "You're impossible."

"You're right about that!" he called back as the couple made their way up the stairs.

"I wish I'd had siblings," Chase commented once they were in their room, thoroughly entertained by Cameron's interaction with her brother.

"They're nice to have," Cameron agreed, piling her dirty clothes in the bottom of the suitcase before collapsing on the bed.

"Aren't you going to finish packing?" Chase asked, looking confused.

"Our flight isn't until 3," Cameron answered. "I just wanted you to be able to finish your story. If you want to." She sent a small half smile his way.

"I do," Chase said earnestly, moving to join her, kicking his shoes off and onto the floor by his suitcase. The memories of the last time he'd seen his father before the day he'd shown up at Princeton-Plainsboro swirled around his mind and he found his hands were suddenly shaking.

Cameron reached over and rested each of her hands on top of his, both comforting him and urging him to go on when he was ready. Chase took a deep breath, plunging into the last and one of the most pivotal parts of the story.

_Robert rang the doorbell of his father's house, an eerie calm settling into his bones, unnerving him as he slid his sunglasses on top of his head. The Australian summer sun beat down, making him wish he'd worn shorts rather than jeans. Robert had always thought this house impressive, but now it only seemed intimidating, lacking the welcoming quality of the house he'd grown up in. He was about to embark upon the end of something, although he wasn't entirely sure what. After a few moments, the door opened, revealing Rowan's bewildered face._

_ "Robert," he said, opening the door so as to let his son inside. He looked guilty, Robert surmised, like he'd known merely from the expression on his son's face that he'd been caught red handed, but tried to cover it up by attempting to sound overly genuine, as though he thought his son would fall for it like the employees who bowed down at his feet. "This is a surprise. I didn't hear from you…"_

_ "Are we alone?" Robert asked, cutting him off._

_ Rowan raised his eyebrows, a mix of annoyance and curiosity in his tone. _

_ "Yes," he said. "What's going on?"_

_ "You tried to sabotage my interview with House," Robert stated, glaring at his father. "I hadn't thought that even you were capable of such a thing, but I imagine I should have known better."_

_ Rowan sighed, massaging his temples with one hand. "If we're going to discuss this, I'd rather do so sitting down. Let's go to my study."_

_ "Fine," Robert agreed, that unsettling calm still overtaking him, knowing that he would eventually burst despite his best efforts. Rowan knew all the right buttons to push. _

_ They entered the study, Rowan settling himself behind the massive oak desk, peering at his son over the tops of the gold rimmed glasses he wore. Robert sat straight backed in the chair across from him, hands folded and resting in his lap, touching no part of the desk. _

_ "How dare you?" he questioned, feeling the anger starting to bubble underneath his skin, feeling the pained shout he wanted to hurl at his father building up in his throat. "How could you?"_

_ "What did Dr. House tell you?" Rowan asked, his calm manner tinged with condescension. _

_ "He said that you called and asked him not to hire me," Robert said. "Because you wanted me to stay in Australia. That you didn't see the point of me moving across the world when things here were working out."_

_ "And things are working out here, are they not?" Rowan questioned, acting as though they were speaking about planning a dinner engagement rather than a life changing moment. It was the one talent of his father's Robert wanted to master, this strange ability to hide behind a mask of indifference. And yet it made him furious._

_ "Yes," Robert answered, crossing his arms over his chest as he resisted the urge to stand and start pacing the room. "But I got the job. I'm supposed to report in three weeks, so I'm leaving in two to get settled in. I already found an apartment." _

_ A spark of pride lit up Rowan's eyes for a moment before he ran frustrated hands through his thinning hair, which was now mostly streaked with grey. _

_ "Why?" he said, the slightest hint of anger seeping into his voice, "would you risk everything you've built here? The networks, the contacts…" He stopped short of mentioning his reputation, but Robert knew he wanted to._

_ "I'm building on everything I've built here, and this is an opportunity of a lifetime," he responded. "I can learn an immense amount from House, I can learn to save lives like he does, lives that might not otherwise be saved."_

_ As soon as the words accidentally slipped from his mouth, he knew what his father would say next._

_ "There you go again with that damned hero complex!" he shouted, all of the earlier calm leaving him. _

_ Robert gave into the urge that had been trying to burst out since he'd stepped inside the doorway. He stood up rapidly, hands resting on the edge of his father's desk, looking directly into his Rowan's eyes._

_ "Wanting to save lives gives me a hero complex?" he shouted. "You're a doctor, you save lives all the time! You certainly pointed that out enough whenever Mum or I would complain that you weren't home. You were out saving lives so don't bother me about it, you said. What a hypocrite."_

_ "You will not speak to me like that, Robert," Rowan said. "I won't have it."_

_ Robert clenched his hands against the wood, feeling the anger flood through him, hot and unceasing. _

_ "I have tried over and over again to fix our relationship," he began, lowering his voice for a moment. "And yet nothing I do seems to make a difference. You cannot control my every move anymore! I cannot believe you would try to sabotage a job you knew I really wanted just because you thought you knew better! Fathers don't do that." _

_ "You are overreacting," Rowan said, still not rising from his chair, the calm manner returning. "You want to take this job to spite me, to prove you can make a name for yourself without me."_

_ Robert looked at his father closely, seeing in his countenance that the older man really did believe that. Though the anger still ran rampant, it was starting to be replaced by an irrefutable sadness. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop himself from loving his father, but sometimes he dearly wished there was something he could do to prevent it. Rowan in turn, loved him in his own way, he knew, but he also knew now that things would probably never be right between, no matter how much effort he put into it. He was done trying. He knew he'd sworn that before, but this time he was absolutely certain. He was through with the months of only hearing sporadically from the man who was supposed to always be there for him, he was through with Rowan trying to control his medical career, he was through trying to impress him._

_ "I want to take this job because of what I can learn from it," Robert said, voice returning to its normal volume. "And I consider myself lucky to have this opportunity." He breathed in, readying himself for what he would say next. "Your name will inevitably follow me wherever I go, but I want to make a name on my own merits. And you trying to keep me from that job shows me that you don't believe I can."_

_ Finally, Rowan rose from his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, ever formidable. But Robert found the intimidation factor no longer worked as it once had. _

_ "You are ever melodramatic," Rowan said, rolling his eyes. "I have no doubt that you can make it on your own…you've done extremely well. But the point is you're being rash in moving all the way across the world. You're running from…"_

_ "The point is I'm leaving in two weeks," Robert cut in, moving towards the door, his eyes catching sight of hundreds of medical texts contained on the bookshelves. "Andrew is taking me to the airport, so if you'd like to see me off, here's my flight information." He placed the single sheet of paper on the end table by the door. He had taken his first step out when his father spoke once more._

_ "So you're leaving just like that?" He questioned, the disapproval clear in his tone, and yet there was an obvious vulnerability there, a certain sadness. This was what it felt like for Rowan to get a dose of his own medicine._

_Robert's hands shook with emotion, yet he was determined to conceal it from his father. He didn't turn around before he answered. _

"_Just like you left Mum and me," he said, making sure his father heard him. "You should know what it looks like."_

_With that he closed the door behind him and walked out of his father's life. He had thought that he would perhaps feel vindicated, but instead all he felt was an odd mixture of crushing disappointment and for the first time in his life, absolute freedom._

_Two weeks later while standing in front of the security gates, he looked around the crowd for Rowan's face, giving his father one last chance to not disappoint him. Here he was, 28 and leaving for another country, still waiting for Rowan to not disappoint him. _

"_I don't think he's coming, Rob," Andrew said from beside him. "He's an ass. Don't let it bother you. You're going off on an adventure of sorts, going off to be Robert Chase, super doctor, even if you are leaving me behind."_

_Robert elbowed his best friend. "Bull. You're coming to visit in three months. Leaving you behind…" he trailed off, laughing and shaking his head. "Well, I've got to get on a plane and you've got to get back to the firm or they'll come looking for you. I'll ring you when I land."_

"_Please do," Andrew replied, moving into give him a brief hug. "Now go and learn to use the metric system, eat cheeseburgers every day and drive on the wrong side of the road."_

"_Very clever," Robert answered, feeling sad at the prospect of Andrew not being 20 minutes down the road any longer. Being friends for almost 20 years was a rarity these days, a rarity he didn't plan on taking for granted even all the way on the other side of the world._

_They said their goodbyes and Robert waved him off, taking his place in line. Just as he passed through the inspection, he turned to look one last time, hating the swoop of disappointment that overtook him when Rowan wasn't there. He took it in, the idea that he was leaving the country that had been his home for his entire life, the place he loved dearly, full of people he would miss. The adjustment would take time and he would certainly visit, but he was bolstered by the idea of starting over. The past belonged to Isabelle's slow descent into alcoholism and death, it belonged to Rowan's near constant absence and intermittent harsh disapproval, but the future belonged to him, and him alone._

"I left a message for my father, telling him I'd arrived safely," Chase said, eyes fixed on Cameron's girlish bedspread. "He called a few months later to tell me he'd been at the Scleroderma conference in New York, but hadn't had time to stop in. We only spoke for about five minutes. That was all the contact we had, and I'd been gone from Australia just a few months shy of two years when he showed up at the hospital. I was really happy in the new life I'd created, the job, everything, and then he just showed up like that… I still wonder if…" he trailed off, not entirely sure he wanted to finish his thought.

"If what?" Cameron asked, her voice soft and gentle. The expression on her face reminded him of the Cameron he'd first met, quiet and unsure of herself. It warmed him to think of how she'd grown since then, into the confident woman before him. He'd grown too, he knew. He decided to trust her with what he was thinking.

"If I tried hard enough," he whispered, seizing a fistful of the bedspread, accent husky and more pronounced than usual.

He suddenly felt arms encircling his waist and pulling him to her side, almost forceful in their desperation.

"You tried as hard as you could," she said firmly, taking his chin in her hand. "Look at me. You tried harder than he deserved, so don't ever let me hear you say otherwise."

He nodded, letting the silence fall between them for a few moments, hardly able to believe all the things he'd told her, willing himself to know that he wasn't weak for showcasing his emotion…he was merely human.

"I was just thinking," Cameron said, resting her chin on his shoulder now. "Of that night I showed up at your apartment, after the hearing about Kayla."

"Ah yes," Chase laughed, remembering how shocked he'd been when she'd shown up at her doorstep. He'd been slightly tipsy from the wine he'd been drinking.

"I was so harsh back then," Cameron said, scrunching her nose in a way that made Chase laugh harder.

"You got over it. Mostly," he teased.

"You're hilarious," she remarked dryly. "I think some part of me knew I liked you as more than my colleague, as more than a friend," she continued, looping one leg over his and pulling him closer. He responded, intertwining one of his hands with hers. "And it freaked me out."

_Chase was starting on his third glass of merlot and finishing the last bites of the pasta he'd thrown together for dinner when he heard the doorbell ring. Both surprised and disgruntled, he shuffled barefoot to the door. He opened it, half shocked at who stood there, the other half supposing he should have expected it._

"_Cameron?" he said, running a hand through his mussed up hair. "What are you doing here? You're not…"_

"_No!" she exclaimed, knowing he was wondering if she'd taken meth again, unlikely as that would be. "I… she stumbled over her words. "I… after yesterday I thought that I might come see how you were doing." She said all this in a rush, looking as though she might cry. She had what looked like a cake holder in her hands._

_She felt awkward, he could tell, given what had occurred between them just over a week ago. He stood there hardly able to comprehend that she was at his door, when a familiar tone cut through the air._

"_Can you at least let me in?" she asked, tone a tad biting now. "It's cold out here."_

"_Oh yeah, sure," he said, gathering himself. "Sorry."_

"_What's that?" he asked, gesturing to the item in her hands as he closed the door behind him and took her coat, hanging it up on the small coat rack._

"_I baked a chocolate cake," she said, the harshness disappearing once again, a slight sheepishness entering her voice. "I guess it's silly, but it always makes me feel better, chocolate."_

"_I love chocolate cake," he said, smiling at her. "Sit? I should probably go change…"_

"_No, you're fine," she said, gazing around at his apartment. They'd been out in public before, sometimes the two of them when she'd first moved to Princeton and needed a friend, and then the three of them once Foreman had arrived, and he'd obviously been to her apartment, but she'd never been here. "You've got a nice place. Clean, for a bachelor."_

"_I try," he said, sitting down on the couch. "Wine?"_

"_Sure," she said, sitting down herself, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. _

_It was quiet between them for a solid minute before Cameron spoke up, asking the question that had obviously been plaguing her since yesterday. _

"_Why didn't you tell anyone your Dad died?" she blurted out._

"_Why do you feel the need to check up on me?" he shot back, the walls he'd worked so hard to build coming to his emotional defense._

"_You first," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest._

"_You," Chase answered, knowing he sounded childish, but not caring._

"_Fine," she said, narrowing her eyes at him for a moment._

"_Well?" Chase coaxed her when she didn't answer, irritation seeping into his voice._

"_God forbid I should want to check on you," she said, more than tinge of sarcasm in her tone. "We're friends aren't we?"_

"_Are we?" he asked before he could stop himself. He wasn't always sure what they were._

_Cameron softened, taking a sip of her wine. "We used to be," she said. "I think we still are. I'd like to be."_

"_Me too," Chase admitted. He didn't bring up the fact that he would perhaps like to be more than friends, despite what he'd told her in the locker room the day after they'd slept together. He wasn't sure if he was ready for a relationship right now, especially one that would complicate his work life if it didn't work out, and he didn't even know if she wanted one with him. In any case, he'd liked spending time with Cameron in the past, finding she was easy to talk with when she wasn't trying to pry._

"_You owe me an answer now," she pointed out, looking at him expectantly._

_He sighed, taking a gulp of his own wine. "I don't know why entirely," he began. "I like to keep things close to the vest, and it was bad enough when it was obvious to the whole hospital that things weren't great between my Dad and me when he came to visit."_

"_You should have told someone," Cameron argued, looking him directly in the eye, a small frown befalling her features. "You should have told us he'd died, you should have told us that when you took those few days off after Kayla's transplant you were going to his funeral. You might have avoided the entire disciplinary hearing. It's not healthy to keep something like that to yourself."_

"_I know," he said, meeting her piercing gaze._

_Surprising him, she reached out and squeezed his shoulder, her hand lingering. _

"_Are you okay?" she asked. "About your Dad? About Kayla?"_

_He shook his head, knowing a verbal answer wasn't necessary._

"_Do you want to talk about it?"_

"_No," he said emphatically. He knew though, that he didn't want to be alone. "But I wouldn't mind talking about something else, to have some company. Do you want to stay and eat some cake and watch a movie?" he asked, picking up a DVD of Ferris Bueller's Day off from the coffee table and showing it to her, a goofy smile on his face._

"_Sure," she said, a wide grin gracing her features now. "I love John Hughes movies. Point me toward the forks."_

_They spent the rest of the evening eating the chocolate cake straight from the pan, laughing, and talking about anything under the sun that didn't have to do with the issues at hand, but there was a comfort in that for Chase; it let him know that the world would continue, despite the fact that lately he felt as though the complete opposite was true. They finished one bottle of wine and opened another, breaking into tipsy hysterics at the antics of the characters, and it pushed the moving photographs of Kayla and Rowan from his mind, at least for a little while. _

Chase hadn't even noticed there were tears on his face until he felt Allison's thumb on his cheek wiping them away, something he'd taken to doing whenever she was upset. He smiled at her, feeling a strange sense of relief, a weight lifting off his chest. He wasn't willing to share this story with much of anyone, but it was nice to finally have Cameron know the whole truth, another hurdle they'd overcome together.

"Thank you for telling me all of this," She said, snuggling down under the covers and resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, stroking her hair.

"You're welcome," he said, pulling the covers up around them as he reached over to turn out the light. "Thank you for inviting me for Thanksgiving."

"I was nervous at first," she admitted. "I haven't brought anyone home since Michael died. But I'm so glad I did." She paused for moment, as though she had something else to say but wasn't quite sure how to phrase it.

"You're brave you know," she continued, wholly serious. "I didn't realize it so much before, but standing up to your Dad like that…taking care of your mom…moving to a complete new continent. That's really impressive. Not many people could do that."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she assured him. "It is." She lifted her head up off his chest, a smirk forming on her lips. "So…do you want to pack?"

"What?" he asked, bewildered for a moment before suddenly remembering Peter's earlier words about euphemisms. "Oh," he said as it dawned on him.

Before she could utter another word he claimed her lips with his own, arms wrapping around her waist. She smiled into the kiss, and a pang of almost painful euphoria shot through him. He felt completely at home.

The next morning contained an immense amount of hugs, kisses on the cheek, and a set in stone invitation for Christmas, and as Chase took Cameron's hand when they walked out the door, waving exuberantly at her family, his step felt lighter than it had in years.

A/N: Hello readers! I hope you all liked this chapter, and that I succeeded in keeping Chase and Cameron in character. I always imagined Chase's last encounter with Rowan would be something like this, because he looked so absolutely shocked when he showed up in "Cursed." There is an epilogue coming soon, and there's also an idea for a longer Chase fic dancing around in my head, so stay tuned for both. Also I thought I'd include them watching Ferris Bueller after we found out this season that Chase liked John Hughes movies. I love learning new little tidbits like that, and I can totally see Chase and Cameron watching some of his famous 80's romantic comedies together after long days at the hospital. Thanks for reading/reviewing!


	12. Epilogue

Getting to Know You

Epilogue

Chase leaned with his back against the lobby desk, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, waiting for Cameron to come up from the ER. They were leaving early to head to the airport to pick up Andrew, Ben, and Roger for their week-long visit. He closed his eyes, tired from the early wake call to do an emergency surgery this morning, but started when a loud voice erupted through the lobby.

"I didn't sleep with your girlfriend!" came House's purposefully over dramatic shout. He stopped directly in front of his former fellow, who was wide-eyed and blushing as he looked around the lobby, shaking his head at everyone who was staring.

"Glad to see you haven't become _completely_ immune to my immature antics," House said, tapping his cane on the floor.

"How do you…" Chase began.

"Heard Foreman telling the rest of the team to keep yours and Cameron's little spat to themselves. Said I would only make it worse," House replied. He made a mock sad face, mouth drooping downwards. "It's like he doesn't know me at all!"

"House…" Chase warned.

"Oh, quit your whining. I'm not here to ruin your day. Just glad I got the chanceto embarrass you," he said, now eyeing Chase up and down. "Interesting thing is, you already know I didn't sleep with Dr. Goody two-shoes. Because if I had slept with her after our _one _unsuccessful date, it's highly likely I would have bragged about it, which you know. And Cameron would likely have accidentally let it slip in some way or another, as she tends to often do. Do you happen to recall your previous one-night stand?"

Chase sighed, finally meeting House's gaze, frustrated that House could read him so well. "Yeah, I know all of that. I just got…jealous."

"Insecure is a more appropriate word," House said, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows. Right now Chase was his reluctant puzzle, as he couldn't walk away while waiting for Cameron. "Or scared. Something happened between the two of you in the past few weeks. You've both been nauseatingly happy since you started your little love fest, but lately it's been even worse. You took some kind of step, and now you're afraid she'll leave you, so you picked a fight."

"I…" Chase tried to say, but House cut across him.

"Don't argue, I'm right," he said, leaning a little more heavily on his cane. "And after all the work you put into getting the girl…"

"We talked about my past, okay? Leave it alone. You're so damned nosy," Chase said, disgruntled, maddened that House could read him so well.

"Curious is a better word," House answered, unfazed. "Newsflash: If you told the Camster all about your daddy issues she probably loves you even more. She just can't help herself with things like that. Cameron would be the last person to stay in a relationship she doesn't want, so quit being so insecure, it's annoying. And don't be such a self-sabatoger. It's more your girlfriend's arena anyway."

"Ha," Chase laughed, sarcasm lacing his tone. "Yeah, you don't know anything about self-sabotage." He shook his head, smiling a little. He enjoyed his more honest banter with House, now that he was no longer his boss. It added a different dimension to their relationship. "Are you done analyzing my relationship now? Shouldn't you be bothering Wilson or something?"

"He's busy with…"

"Amber," Chase finished. "Well if you ever need a bowling partner again, I'd be up for it."

House surveyed him for a moment, the expression in his blue eyes unreadable. "In your dreams, wombat," he responded. But there was the ghost of a grin on his face. "Anyway, I'm out. Here comes trouble."

Chase's eyes flickered up to see Cameron walking toward them, looking a little perplexed.

"Hey, House," she said, raising her eyebrows at them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nope," said House. "I'm just off to pretend to ask Cuddy about a treatment for my Mr. Nice Guy patient." With that, he whisked off in the direction of Cuddy's office.

"Ready?" Cameron asked Chase, her tone not altogether unfriendly, though her lips were pursed, a sure sign she was irritated.

"Yeah," he replied, reaching into the front pocket of his bag for the car keys. "My car?"

"Seeing as how my car is still at your townhouse…"

"Right," Chase replied, feeling sheepish.

They made their way out to Chase's hunter green SUV, saying hello to a few colleagues as they passed. They climbed into the car in silence, and Chase could feel that Cameron was still angry with him from the tension radiating off her body. He drove out of the parking lot and got stuck at the first red light, finding himself unable to keep quiet.

"So," he asked, hesitant. "Are you still…mad at me?"

"Yes," she said, not looking at him, arms crossed over her chest.

"I'm really sorry," he said, still not knowing what had possessed him to ask such a question in front of the others, or in the fashion he did. "I shouldn't have acted that way."

"You're right about that," Cameron responded, finally turning to look at him, eyes narrowed. "What the hell, Robert?"

"I admit that I was way off base blurting it out like that in front of everyone," Chase said, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he turned onto the interstate entrance ramp. "And I couldn't be sorrier. But while it isn't anybody else's business, it is at least a little bit mine. You didn't have to be so hostile when you answered."

Cameron huffed. "I was a little shocked at you, so I didn't exactly think about what I was saying!" Cameron said, raising her voice a tad. "You embarrassed me."

"And you embarrassed me!" Chase shot back, trying to be careful not to have a lead foot, his kneejerk reaction when driving while frustrated.

"I just don't know how many times I have to tell you that I'm over House!" Cameron responded. "I respect him as a mentor, and in a weird way, a friend, just like you do. I had a school girl crush _years_ ago. I just don't get your jealousy when nothing happened between us, something you already knew, something you heard me say after House faked cancer last year! I'm with _you_, Chase. _You_. I don't just get into relationships for kicks or because they're convenient! God, you of all people should know that!"

Chase sighed, steeling himself. "I got scared okay?" he said, voice raised, but going down with each word. Cameron looked at him again, eyes squinted in a mixture of interest and confusion. "We've been getting even closer over the past few weeks, after I spilled all that stuff at Thanksgiving, and I just got freaked out that you would leave. I'm just tired of people leaving."

He chanced a glance over at her before focusing on the road, noting that her expression had softened. "We both acted like idiots," she said, reaching over to grasp his arm lightly. "And I'm not going to leave you. You need to trust me like you tell me to trust you."

He moved his right hand from the steering wheel, taking hers in his own and resting their intertwined fingers on the console.

"I am trying to learn that every good thing won't always be taken away from me," he said, hating that his abandonment issues, though completely understandable, had gotten in his way. "But then again, I think we're both learning that."

"Agreed," Cameron replied, flipping on the heat to warm herself against the frigid late January weather seeping in the through the windows. "And we should also learn to not fall for any more of House's fake illnesses. We should really have known better after the cancer."

"We should," Chase agreed. "But syphilis actually seemed really plausible." He cleared his throat, relief starting to creep into his veins. "So, fight over? I know I was an idiot…"

"I understand much better now why you acted like that," Cameron said. "I just wish you'd said something before. Of course, I'm not always so fantastic at knowing why I act a certain way until after the fact," she admitted, a small smile gracing her features. "And I'm sorry for responding the way I did. But yes, fight over." She nudged him with her shoulder. "So tell me something: I know Andrew and Roger are from Australia originally, but how did Ben end up there, exactly? You never said."

"Oh, yeah. He worked at a parish in London for several years, but they started a mission at a sister church down in Melbourne a couple of years before I left for the U.S. that his diocease sent him to work for," Chase answered. "He really likes it there. Says the weather's much better. So he got to be friends with Roger and Andrew."

"Ah okay," Cameron responded, pulling the edges of her sweater over her fingers. "That makes sense. Do you mind if I ask you one more thing?"

"Shoot," Chase said, curious.

"Do you," she hesitated slightly before continuing. "Do you regret becoming a doctor? I've been wondering."

Chase took his eyes off the road for a split second to glance over at her, surprised. This was something he hadn't thought about for quite some time, something that used to plague him but that he had put to rest when he took House's fellowship.

"I used to," he said, flicking on his blinker. "But I don't now. My reasons for becoming one were convoluted, but I really love it. It's all so fascinating, and it makes me feel like I'm making a difference. It's challenging, and I like that."

"Good," she said, a slight smile gracing her features, squeezing his hand lightly. "I'd hoped you'd say that."

They spent the rest of the thirty minute drive to Newark catching up on hospital gossip and expressing their relief that the nursing strike was finally over, simply content to be together. Cameron was excited and intrigued to meet Chase's friends, especially now that he'd met her family. Upon parking at the airport, they made their way to baggage claim and waited for the trio to arrive.

"It's been a little over a year since I've seen any of them," Chase mused. "Hard to believe. Oh, wait," a wide grin spread across his face. "That's them now."

Cameron looked up, examining the three men Chase was pointing toward, telling her who was who. Andrew had neatly trimmed dark brown hair, dressed in kaki's, an un-tucked hunter green polo and loafers, a messenger bag similar to Chase's slung over his shoulder; Roger had longish dirty blonde hair and mischievous hazel eyes, dressed casually in worn jeans and a University of Melbourne Med School t-shirt; Ben had red hair and donned glasses, still dressed in his clerics, an easy going smile on his face.

"What, no airport run?" Andrew asked as they reached the three. "I'm only slightly hurt."

"Rob couldn't risk falling and looking like an idiot in front of his girl," Roger quipped as Ben rolled his eyes at their antics.

"Very funny," Chase said as he greeted them, each of them pulling him into different versions of a bear hug. Cameron thought that she'd only seen him look this elated a few times before. He took her hand and pulled her gently forward. "Guys, this is…"

"I think we know who this is," Roger interrupted, stepping forward. "It's a pleasure, Allison," he said, reaching out to shake her hand. "Rob didn't do you justice," he said, a playful flirtation in his tone.

"Shut up Roger," Ben teased, reaching out for Cameron's hand as well, his British accent neatly differentiated from the two Aussies beside him. "He did so. Glad to finally meet you."

"But not as glad as I am, Padre," Andrew said, hugging Cameron in greeting, surprising her, but she hugged him in return, chuckling.

"I'm so glad to meet all of you," Cameron said, a warmth spreading through her veins and smile on her face. "I've heard so many stories."

"Oh," Andrew said, poking Chase in the chest. "You'll get to hear many more before we leave. Don't worry."

"Embarrassing me already and you haven't even been here 10 minutes," Chase said, shaking his head and laughing.

"It's my job to embarrass you," Andrew responded, slinging an arm around Chase's shoulders. "Am I right boys?"

Roger and Ben nodded in agreement, sly grins on both their faces.

A few hours later found the five of them sitting in the living room of Chase's townhouse, open containers of takeout from Chase and Cameron's favorite Chinese place scattered over the coffee table. Chase sat between Andrew and Ben on the couch, while Roger lounged in the recliner. Cameron stood in the adjoining kitchen, watching them as she re-filled her glass of white zinfandel. The four of them were laughing over a photo album Andrew had brought along, which contained photos from his and Chase's shared childhood all the way up through college. He'd brought it along specifically to show her he'd said, to which she'd responded that she liked him already. She loved the way being around his old friends brought such a smile to Robert's face, and she stood back for a moment, content to simply observe them. They'd made leaps and bounds in the past few months but he was still an intensely private person, she knew, and just watching him with these friends from his past helped her learn more than it would be possible for him to divulge. She watched as he rose from the couch, wine glass in hand, to join her.

"Entertaining yourself?" he asked, shooting her a grin, a sight which had long caused her heart to race, years before she would ever admit it to herself.

"Very much," she teased, re-filling his glass for him. "There are some great pictures in that album." She reached out and pinched his cheek in gest. "Little Robert."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, unable to stop from laughing. "None of that in front of the guys."

"Don't bother with that," Andrew called, turning to look at the pair, a twinkle in his eyes. "We already know you're whipped!" He turned to Cameron and made a sort of half-bow in her direction. "Only in the best way, of course."

"That's right," Cameron agreed, a sly smile on her face as Roger erupted into laughter, Ben shaking his head, obviously amused.

"Do you get your kicks from embarrassing me?" Chase questioned, leaning against the counter, sipping his wine and glancing at Cameron over the rim of his glass.

"Of course," Cameron answered, placing a light hand on his chest when she noticed the guys had become engrossed in the soccer match (or football, as they called it) that had just appeared on the flat screen. She took a fistful of his shirt and pulled him toward her gently. "Thank you," she said, voice lowering to a whisper.

"For what?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, perplexed.

"For…letting me in. For telling me everything you did. For letting me meet your friends," she said, a smile playing at her lips. "It means a lot."

She watched the emotion rise to his eyes like waves to the shore, slow, but inevitable.

"It means a lot that you wanted to know all those things," he said, hand moving to clasp the one that rested on his chest. "And I'm glad you're getting to meet them."

Cameron leaned into kiss him, but her lips had only just brushed his when they were interrupted by a shout from the living room.

"Rob," Roger complained. "Dear Benjamin here is claiming that Manchester United has divine providence on their side because he's rooting for them. Can you please tell him he's wrong?"

"I don't know that I can argue with a priest, mate," Chase said, taking Cameron's hand and leading her back into the living room to join his friends. "We'll just have to see whose side God is on when the match is over."

Although she wasn't a sports fan, Cameron thoroughly enjoyed watching the match with Chase and his friends, charmed by how much excitement the combination of good calls and a little too much wine could cause. And in that moment of not so quiet domesticity, Chase's arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders, she knew that the decision she'd made standing on the front steps of this very same townhouse all those months ago, the decision to take a chance on loving the complex man who sat beside her, was one of the best she'd ever made.

A/N: Hi readers! I hope I ended this well…I wasn't sure about it, but I hope it works. I decided to set the epilogue at this particular point in time after re-watching season 4 a few weeks ago, and still being utterly bewildered by the whole, "You slept with House, didn't you," scene. It was just so wildly out of character for Chase to ask such a private question in front of that many people, and to suddenly be that jealous when he'd just been hanging out with House a few scenes before. So this is my fanfic explanation for that. Chase has always been afraid of letting out too much information about himself, so it would make sense that his fear of losing Cameron would cause him to react in such a fashion. Anyway, I had an AMAZING time writing this fic. Chase is my favorite, and his character is so intriguing, plus I really adore Chameron. I'm starting to work on an AU season 7 fic (it's AU post Recession Proof) that is Chase-centric, so be on the lookout! And thank you for reading!


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